


Mighty Love

by ChrissyStriped



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BDSM, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Headcanon, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Slavery, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 20:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 71
Words: 270,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11790954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissyStriped/pseuds/ChrissyStriped
Summary: Mablung survived the march over the Helcaraxe just to be captured and taken to Angband.Melkor hates the elves and especially the Noldor, his slave means nothing to him... or does he?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First time ever publishing a fanfiction, though this story has been in the making for quite a while (meaning I have a lot of headcanon wrapped around it). I hope you will like it.
> 
> I'm trying to post a chapter every week, depending on how fast I am with translating. (I'm not a native speaker, so if you find some strange grammar feel free to point it out to me.)

Melkor’s wrath burned hot inside him, the words of his siblings reverberating in his head. _“You are not wanted here any longer.”_ They had cast him out and Manwe had done nothing to help him. Since he had gone his own way with the Music, his brother had turned away from him. “I don’t know you anymore, Melkor. You have become like a stranger to me,” he had said and looked at him with sad eyes.

Melkor growled, none of them had tried to understand him. The only thing that mattered to them, was that he had annoyed Eru. Not even his father understood him, he that had made him. Melkor forced back his tears. He would show them, them all! No one treated him like that! He would prove that he could do things his father never wanted. Melkor looked up when he heard a quiet noise. A Maia had come up to him and knelt down. “How did you find me?” Melkor recognized him, he had sung with him.

“I want to serve you, herdir, I will find you everywhere.” Melkor smiled, he wasn’t so alone after all. “What’s your name?” “Sinthoras, herdir. I belong with you, herdir, I know it.” The Maia was fire, Melkor could feel it, although he had taken a form that resembled the vision they had seen of Eru’s Children. “Sinthoras.” Melkor savoured the taste of his name. “Show me.” The Maia lifted his head bewildered. “Herdir?” “I can’t afford to believe you at your word. You could be a spy of my siblings.” “Of course, herdir, I understand.” Sinthoras opened his mind wide for him. Melkor closed his eyes and dove into the music of his soul, he understood the Maia to say the truth. He was his – wholly.

 

Sinthoras felt sore when he woke. Melkor had thoroughly taken him apart, his memories, his feelings. He had lost control over his body while Melkor questioned him, but now he clothed himself again and looked around. He was in a windowless room, a fire burned in a fireplace and spread light and warmth. Sinthoras dragged his hands slowly through the flames, they left a pleasant tingling on his skin. His naked toes sank deep into the carpet when he walked to the bed. They only had to sleep when they stayed too long in their bodies but you could do other things on a bed.

Sinthoras hadn’t had much contact to his siblings since they had entered the word. He had hesitated to bind himself to a Vala and that had estranged him from the other Maiar, but the pleasure a body could give wasn’t new to him. It only needed a thought to let the clothes, he had laid around his body, vanish. Melkor... would his master want him in this way? Sinthoras closed his eyes and let his hand wander down his body and between his legs. It wouldn’t be so hard if he did. He tensed when the door opened, Melkor examined him closely, his face unreadable and his song concealed.

“You are aware of the possibilities these bodies offer us.” A small smile came to his lips. “May I join you?” Melkor’s finger caressed his chest. “You are my master, I wouldn’t ever reject you.” His voice sounded unsteady, breathless. Despite the respect he wanted to express with his words, they felt pale, insufficient. “Yes”, he added firmly. “I want you to.” Melkor hadn’t yet undressed so he pulled him close by his shirt and kissed his mouth. Kisses weren’t new to Melkor, he felt that clearly.

Soon they lay on the bed, Melkor’s lips on his body. Everywhere he kissed him, it felt as if his skin would burn. Sinthoras moaned and moved into his touches. He wanted more, so much more. He could hear him now and his song spoke clearly of his desire. “It’s not the first time, is it?”, Melkor whispered breathlessly into his ear. Sinthoras could only shake his head with a desperate sound, he wasn’t able to form words. And when Melkor took him, it seemed to him as if he took possession of him. He had found his Vala, he would never serve anyone else again.

 

“I want you to do something for me.” Sinthoras laughed quietly and caressed Melkor’s side. “I’m not sure I can do this again already, herdir,” he answered. Melkor grinned and stole a kiss from his lips. “Not that. Although I have to admit I wouldn’t object a repetition. No, I’m afraid we will have to separate for a while.” Sinthoras felt his words like a slap. “You send me away? But...”

“I don’t send you away.” Melkor embraced him again. “But I want you to find others like you. Ainur who want to serve me. You had the courage to come to me, but that might not be true for all. Search them, invite them to come here. Everyone who isn’t happy with the Valar’s leadership is welcome. We will not bow before them.”

Sinthoras nodded slowly, relieved that the separation would not be permanent. “I will do what I can. I know that I’m not the only one who admires you. You are so marvellous.” Melkor hummed gently. “Speak always like this and you will fare well in my service.”

 

Sinthoras came home from a long journey, he still searched for new followers for Melkor. His people had grown already, the caves where Melkor had withdrawn to were full of life. He looked forward to seeing his master again. Sinthoras walked directly to Melkor’s room, he knew that he had the privilege to come to him at any time. He relished the feeling of being the First of Melkor’s people. Sinthoras knocked and walked in on Melkor’s answer.

His master smiled at him. “You are back, my friend.” Sinthoras bowed, feeling Melkor’s happiness like a wave wash over him. “ “I’m glad you appreciate my presence.” Melkor stood up and walked over. “You know it is so much more than that.” He kissed him slowly, Sinthoras wrapped an arm around his hips. Of course he knew. Melkor was his master but he was also his friend, and his lover. He had dreamed of him, in the time he had been away. It was a fact that he had to share Melkor with others, but that didn’t trouble him. He knew that he had a special place at Melkor’s side. Sinthoras moaned when Melkor pushed his knee between his legs.

 

~*~*~

 

Sinthoras groaned when he had to move, his body hurt. Even in sleep the pain had troubled him. When he tried to sit up, he realized that he was still tied to the bed. He whimpered silently. The war brought out all the bad in Melkor. Every week the fights went on, his wrath burned hotter. He wanted the old Melkor back, the attentive lover – his friend. He had never hurt him like this. Sinthoras hated the Valar for changing him like this. It had begun after Osse had gone back to Ulmo. Melkor’s rage had filled all of Utumno. Sinthoras had still dared to come to his side, that was his place, and Melkor had beaten him for the first time.

Melkor often was erratic, but what cruelty he was capable of frightened Sinthoras. He would never tell him, of course, he wouldn’t disappoint his master, if it made him happy to treat him like this, he would accept it. Although Melkor listened more to Artano’s advice now than his, Sinthoras knew that he still was First in Melkor’s thoughts. His master caressed his back almost tenderly but the touch let the pain flare up again. There was no blood but the welts burned.

“How beautiful your voice is when you scream under my blows”, Melkor murmured hoarsely and kissed his cheek. “I love to see it when your skin becomes red.” Sinthoras sat up when Melkor untied him and looked at his face, a hard expression lay around his mouth. He mustn’t make a mistake. “I will call for you, if I need you.” “Of course, herdir.” Sinthoras knew he was dismissed.

 

He stood on a vantage point and looked to the west. The enemy came slowly nearer. Soon they would be here, surely Melkor knew already, Sinthoras could feel them and his master’s senses were much stronger. It wouldn’t better his mood. Why couldn’t they leave him be? They had withdrawn from Arda, why couldn’t they stay away. Of course he knew that Melkor had overstepped when he made the orcs, but they had pushed him away first, they had not tried to understand him.

Sinthoras circled his shoulders, his cramped muscles loosened only grudgingly. Melkor was rarely gentle these days and Sinthoras didn’t get pleasure from pain. But he had sworn to serve him for always and that’s what he would do, what he wanted. He had won Melkor’s trust and favour and he wouldn’t put that at stake just because he didn’t like his master’s sexual preferences. On the battlefield he would protect his master with his life.

 

Sinthoras stood beside Melkor, flaming sword in hand, they were surrounded. “Go, Sinthoras, seek shelter, find Artano.” “No, herdir, I won’t leave you! I’m at your side, always.” Sinthoras looked towards their enemies and moved closer to Melkor. He could have had a chance if he ran, they feared his fire, but he would never desert Melkor. “Don’t you see that it is hopeless to fight, Sinthoras? There’s no way out for me, they won’t let me get away, but you can.” Melkor looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I don’t want them to get you.”

“No, herdir! Forgive me, but this one time I can’t obey you. I swore to serve you, always be at your side. I won’t break that vow like Artano and the others even if they did it on your order! I belong with you, master, I don’t want to be parted from you. Why can’t you understand?” Sinthoras changed his body back to the elf, Melkor was right, they were outmatched. Melkor had sent them all away, only he remained.

His master smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry that you ended here, my friend. Can you forgive me for my behaviour in the last months?” “There’s nothing to forgive.” Sinthoras laid his hand on his shoulder. “You have taken nothing I wasn’t willing to give. I would follow you everywhere.” Sinthoras looked defiantly at the Valar. “Lay down your weapons”, Manwe said. Sinthoras had never met him before in body, but he remembered his song from before. He looked at Melkor and only let go of his sword when he nodded.

 

Sinthoras looked around the small room they had locked him in. He was sick with fear for Melkor but also for himself. He didn’t know what to expect from the Valar. He moved fluidly into a defensive position when the lock clicked and Manwe himself came in. He felt the similarity to Melkor, his brother. “Why do you serve Melkor?” Sinthoras looked intently at him. What was that supposed to mean? “I belong with him. Do you ask your servants why they serve you?”

“You feel that you belong with him? Why? You are not evil.” Anger flared up in him. Evil? Melkor wasn’t evil. “How do you know that? Maybe I just pretend”, he said with gritted teeth and tried to hide his true thoughts. “Are you?” Sinthoras shook his head. “No. I am who I am and I belong at his side, regardless what he does. What are you going to do with me?”

Manwe looked seriously at him. “You remain here for the time being. You are going to have to prove yourself. Don’t make a mistake or you are going to Mandos like your master.” Sinthoras bowed his head under Manwe’s stern gaze. “Who long has Melkor to remain there, herdir?”, he whispered. “Three ages, then he will have the chance to ask for forgiveness again. Believe me, Sinthoras, the last thing I want to do is to hurt my brother. I want him back.” He smiled sadly.

 

~*~*~

 

When Sinthoras heard that Melkor was free, he asked to see him immediately. Beaming with joy he rushed into the room and stopped short. He felt how much Melkor had changed, he had turned darker, so much darker, he nearly didn’t recognize him. Was that really the man he loved and admired so much? “Herdir.” He knelt and bowed his head. He felt that his Valar wouldn’t tolerate familiarity anymore. “Look at me, Sinthoras.” Melkors eyes burned in his mind, he had to grit his teeth not to scream. “I’m pleased to see that you remained faithfull.” Melkor broke the eye contact. “Are you going to follow me on my way?” “Yes, herdir.” He would follow Melkor everywhere.

 

“Where are they?” The spider moved slowly up to him, the Silmaril burned in his hands. Melkor gritted his teeth. “I don’t know what you mean. You had your share, go now.” He didn’t sound as superior as he would have liked to. Sinthoras had went ahead to prepare his return and deliver the captive Maia, he needed to deal with Ungolianth alone.

 

Sinthoras ran as fast as he could, his master needed him. Still running he changed shape and let the fire burn. He slashed at Ungolianth with his sword. She scuttled back frightened but then attacked herself, goaded by greed for the Silmaril. A black net closed around Sinthoras forearm, he screamed with pain when burning cold seared through his nerves. Blackness closed around him. He had to force himself to fight on. Ungolianth fled when reinforcement came. Sinthoras fell to his knees, wearing his elf body again and clutching his numb, ice cold arm. He looked up when Melkor touched his shoulder. “Thank you, you saved me. I will never forget, Sinthoras.” Sinthoras smiled through the pain. He had proven his loyalty again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> herdir - master
> 
> On Names:  
> Sinthoras is Gothmog, as Tolkien didn't give us his "real" name, I had to find one for myself. (I took it from the "Dwarves"-Series by Markus Heitz, nothing to do with Tolkien but I liked the name at the time.)  
> I use Artano for Sauron because in my headcanon that is the more formal one of his names and he doesn't like to be called Mairon by everyone.


	2. Chapter One

_1500 Y.T._

Mablung shivered where he stood with the other captured elves in a cold room lighted with torches. He was cold, someone had taken his shirt and boots away, the cold of the floor crept up his legs, he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. The whip marks on his back burned, he had gotten them for running too slowly for the taste of the servants of the enemy. If only he had listened to his father! He should have never gone away.

The soldiers of the enemy had picked him up after he had only barely escaped the Ice. They had brought him here, deep under the mountains. It seemed to Mablung he could feel the weight of the rock above him. He embraced himself. What would they do to him? Two of the ugly beings that had captured him, guarded a door and leered at them, Mablung shivered. Careful not to draw attention he shifted his weight, his legs hurt from standing so long. He licked his dry lips. If only they would give them water...

A quiet sob reached his ears, the elf next to him cried with trembling shoulders. Mablung felt panic rising up in him. This man was so much older than him and still he cried... He nearly lost his nerve but the opening door distracted him. A tall, black haired male stepped into the room. He looked like an elf but the guards bowed to him and Mablung knew him to be a Maia of the enemy. He looked at the floor when the Maia surveyed the captives, he did not want to draw his attention to himself.

 

Mo examined the new slaves closely. A bunch of ragged figures, but they were strong, they were going to last a while. The work in the mines was hard and dangerous, they always needed fresh workers. From the ore the slaves mined, armour would be forged for the soldiers.

He addressed the slaves directly: “If you haven’t realized already: You belong to King Melkor now, slaves. My name is of no importance to you, you will call me _herdir_. I’m not interested in your names either, or that you are tired and hungry. I’m only interested in the work you have to give. You are slaves, you are here to work. Some of you might think that they won’t obey, that they will fight to the last. Maybe you will, but the ‘last’ will be a very ugly death. We are used to handle unruly slaves. Every rebellious act, every transgression will be punished harshly. Think before you act, or you could face consequences you might not be able to bear.”

He gave each of them a stern look, only a few dared to meet his eye, but he saw too a telltale flash of rebellion on one or two faces. He wasn’t worried, it wouldn’t hold, it never did. His eyes lingered on a brown haired elf who stood next to the wall and seemed to melt into the shadows. On first glance he seemed unimpressive, you hardly noticed him, but now, as he looked longer at him, he realized how pretty he was – and very young. He seemed to hold up remarkably well for one so young.

The elf stumbled back a step when Mo walked towards him but stopped when he realized he couldn’t run anywhere, he trembled violently. His eyes where full of tears when Mo took hold of his chin and turned his head back and forth to examine him better. He was beautiful, desire blazed up in him. With such a face he was too good for the mines. “Take them away and give them to eat”, he ordered the orcs, his speech notwithstanding he did care, and waited until he was alone with the boy.

 

Mablung moved back without thought when the Maia looked at him. He didn’t want to be left alone with this man. He wanted to run, to run home. He wished all this had never happened. He wished he had allowed Glorfindel to bring him home. Glorfindel... he sobbed, his eyes burned. There was no going back, not after the blood he spilled.

The hand that forced him to look into the Maia’s face was unyielding but not rough. Mablung closed his eyes, it frightened him how the Maia looked at him. The Maia kissed him, his free hand closing around his buttock after stroking his back. Mablung stiffened he didn’t dare to move. He wanted to resist, his whole self screamed against this kiss and what was to follow, but he remembered the other’s words and kept still. The welts on his back were enough to illustrate what would happen if he didn’t submit.

 

Mo pulled back and petted the boy’s back, he shivered violently. He knew probably what he wanted with him but he didn’t fight him, for the moment at least. He looked so very young, would it be the first time for him? Mo felt the welts on his skin. “Why were you beaten?” Although his voice was calm the boy sucked in his breath. “I walked too slow when they brought me here”, he answered so quietly that he nearly couldn’t understand him.

“Herdir”, he added hastily, panic in his grey eyes. Mo caught himself smiling gently. He wasn’t cruel, not compared to Artano, although he liked it to inflict pain. The boy needn’t be frightened today, he wouldn’t hurt him. Mo caressed the elf’s cheek, tracing the outlines of the slender face and pulled his hand back abruptly. It would only be worse for him later, if he gave him the feeling that he could expect mercy. He was a slave, he would soon know what that meant. Anyway, he didn’t want pain from him today. Mo turned brusquely around. “Follow me”, he ordered a bit harsher than he had wanted. The boy cringed and stumbled after him.

 

Mablung followed his master and tried to keep a lid on his fantasy. He knew what the Maia wanted with him. The way he had touched him could only mean one thing. Would he really do that to him? Would he take against his will what only should be given in love? But he was one of Morgoth’s servants, he didn’t put it past him. Who could say what strange notions of pleasure he had... Mablung swallowed hard. Don’t think about it... Glorfindel had been so gentle, but Glorfindel was far away.

He was at the mercy of this man. It was hopeless. From the moment they had spilled the blood of their brothers they had been doomed. Mablung held back a sob. What would Mandos do to him if he died? He was a murderer! But wouldn’t it be better than this? Everything was better than being a prisoner of Morgoth. Mablung’s heart raced in his chest.

They had come to their destination. The Maia opened a dark wooden door and ordered him with a gesture to enter. Mablung wished he had the courage to defy him but he couldn’t. He had followed him and he knew he would do everything the Maia asked of him. He didn’t want to go to Mandos. Not while he had a choice.

 

Mo looked at the slave intently. The boy was nearly dead with fear. “You will let me have my way with you tonight. You know what that means?”, he asked calmly. “Yes, herdir, I think so”, the elf whispered with high voice. Mo nodded thoughtfully and pulled him closer. “That is well. You will obey me, yes? You won’t anger me and force me to punish you”, her murmured against the slave’s lips and kissed him long and slowly.

Mablung allowed it, he didn’t want to be beaten, this didn’t hurt at least. “Very good”, the Maia purred and smiled but Mablung didn’t notice. “Please, herdir, I’m so thirsty”, he whispered. Maybe he shouldn’t speak but he felt dizzy, he hadn’t had anything to drink all day.

Mo tensed and lifted his hand to slap his cheek but thought better of it. No, he wouldn’t strike him, not this time, he didn’t know better. The boy had shut his eyes in expectation of the slap. “I should punish you now”, Mo said. “A slave isn’t allowed to speak without permission.” The boy opened his mouth to say something and closed it silently again, he understood. Mo poured some water in a cup and offered it to him.

“Thank you.” Mablung bit his lip. “Forgive me, herdir.” The Maia laughed softly and petted his head. “It’s fine. There are masters who would punish you for it, but I think courtesy is not a crime. You will learn to know when your master wants you to thank him.” Mablung drank the water in one go. It was cool and tasted metallic but it was the best he had ever drunk. He looked at the Maia shyly from the corner of his eye.

“Do you want more?”, he asked not unfriendly. “No, herdir, I...” He wasn’t used to not speaking. The Maia sighed. “Ask, I shall be lenient for the time being.” “Why don’t you punish me if I deserve it?” Mablung didn’t know where he took the courage from to ask this question. The Maia had been willing to overlook his mistake. Had he become mad to dwell on it?

The Maia sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress beside him. “Sit with me.”He waited until Mablung had followed his demand. Mablung was all too aware of his closeness. “I didn’t punish you because you didn’t know better. And your life was just turned completely upside down. As long as you don’t defy me in public I can be lenient.”

Mo caressed a stray lock behind the elf’s ear. “Or do you want me to punish you?” He had intended the question to be playful but the boy bit his lip and said: “Yes, herdir, please.” Mo hid his astonishment behind a stern expression. “You are quite bold, slave. Do you know what you ask for?” He was tempted to teach the elf a lesson for his boldness but then he saw the scared look the boy gave the whip he wore on his belt. He wouldn’t hurt him much.

The elf shied away when he pulled the whip from his belt but Mo only laid it on his nightstand. “Your misdeed is not one that justifies the whip”, he said gently. “If you are sure, kneel before me, kiss my hand and ask for it. Today you have the choice but keep in mind that it is my decision how I punish you and when it ends. It will be useless to ask for mercy.” The slave swallowed hard but knelt and kissed his hand with trembling lips. Mo was amazed by his courage he hadn’t anticipated it.

“Please, herdir”, the slave said hoarsely. “I was disobedient, punish me as you see fit.” Mo gripped his chin and forced him to look at him, his eyes shone with unshed tears. Mo knew he was going to break down tonight, it surprised him that it hadn’t happened already. The boy was stronger than he looked, he would survive. “I will. Take your trousers off and bend over my knees.” Mo tried to keep all sharpness out of his voice. He wasn’t angry with the boy but it was good that he had asked for this. He hoped it meant that he would adjust well to this life.

Mo pulled the boy's arm on his back. “Ten slaps”, he said and felt the boy tense in his grip. He kept the slave in suspense for a moment longer before he stroke out. His hand landed with a smack on the light skin. The boy made a startled sound, his body jerked, away from the pain. Mo held him down firmer and continued the punishment. Although he hadn’t wanted to beat him, he felt how the sounds the elf made and the sight of his reddening skin kindled his lust.

 

Mablungs face was wet with tears. It wasn’t even the pain, his father had spanked him sometimes when he had roamed the mountains for too many days. It hadn’t stopped him from going his own ways. This was different. He was now the servant, the slave, of this Maia, he had done something wrong and was punished for it.

Mablung was sure if he made this mistake again the punishment would be harder. He sobbed, his skin glowed and with a start he realized that the Maia enjoyed hurting him. The Maia squeezed his buttock gently. “That’s the last one”, he murmured not unfriendly and hit him a last time. Mablung slumped sobbing. The pain was still tolerable but he knew what would follow now. He didn’t want it, he was so frightened.

 

Mo caressed the crying slave’s back. He hadn’t hurt him a lot but he understood that the tears probably weren’t just a response to the pain. “Do you regret that you asked me for it?”, he asked quietly.

At first Mablung wanted to answer with yes but when he thought about it he realized that the Maia hadn’t been cruel. Maybe he wouldn’t be now. “No, herdir”, he whispered.

Mo smiled and petted the slave’s head. “You are brave, slave, and very strong. Do you know that?” “You think so?”, the boy snuffled. Mo pinched his red buttock and savoured the whimper that followed. “Don’t answer a question with another one”, he said gently. “Lie down on the bed.” He stood up and undressed. Soft rustling behind him indicated that the boy followed his order. Mo sat down next to him and caressed his hair, panic stood in the boy’s face, he knew exactly what he wanted.

Mo sighed inwardly. Somehow this was worse than if he had fought. He had imagined this evening differently. “Is it your first time with a man?” “No, herdir.” The boy’s cheeks turned a bright red. Mo smiled knowingly, he would have to get rid of this sense of shame, he couldn’t afford it here. “I don’t want to hurt you, slave, and if you submit to me, I will be gentle.”

He kissed him tenderly and turned him on his belly. The boy lifted himself up on his knees without him having to order it. Mo laid his hand on his neck comfortingly for a moment. He was glad that he didn’t fight, he would have been loath to beat him again, but he was surprised, he wasn’t used to this behaviour from a slave. Mo let oil flow in his palm and stroked himself, slowly he entered him.

 

The Maia had promised not to hurt him and he kept his word, Mablung still felt terrible. The Maia only thrust into him, he did nothing to give him pleasure too. It felt as if he was only a thing, he sobbed. The Maia only had his own desire in mind, what the slave he used felt was unimportant to him. It didn’t matter if he liked it, what mattered were the wishes of his master.

His master came inside him and laid down beside him, his semen wet between Mablung’s thighs. Mablung tried to pick himself up but everything was too much. He was hungry and tired to death, his backside burned and just now he had been raped by a man he didn’t even know the name of. He started to cry, not caring if it would earn him a punishment, he was exhausted. His master took him in his arms and hummed softly.

 

Mo held the boy and petted his back. He could have been more gentle, he wasn’t a cruel master and if a slave obeyed, he was willing to let him feel pleasure too but it was better for the boy to have this breakdown, he had anticipated, now than with someone who didn’t care. “You understand now what a slave is, don’t you?” The boy nodded still sobbing.

“Good. It is important, you have to know your place or you won’t survive here. Everyone can use you as he pleases. You are very young but that won’t be a reason to spare you, rather the opposite. You are beautiful, they are all going to want you. It’s a shame that I have to send you to the mines, you would be a wonderful pleasure slave.” Mo couldn’t keep him, as much as he wanted to. Artano would hear of it and take him away from him.

He shivered, Artano would kill the boy and it wouldn’t be an easy death, he didn’t deserve that. It was better to be content with having him for a night now and then. He was going to train him regardless, it would only take longer. Meanwhile the boy had calmed a bit. He still sniffed but the tears had ebbed. Mo kissed his brow gently. “Is it better now?” The slave nodded hesitantly. “Then come.” Mo stood up and dressed. “I take you to the mines”, he continued when he saw the boy’s bewildered look.

He cast the slave’s trousers on the bed. “You can’t stay here, as much as I want you in my bed.” Mo grinned when the boy’s cheeks reddened again. “You will have to get used to this kind of compliments, slave. Come.” He lead him further down the hallway and took him to a small adjoining room of the mines that was full of sleeping figures. “Lie down somewhere”, Mo murmured and hurried away, suddenly he felt remorse because he left him here alone.

 

Mablung stood wavering in the dark room. He heard the other elves breathe. When his eyes had adjusted to the near utter dark, he saw that they lay close-packed. Mablung wove through the sleepers carefully. Far back near the wall he found a gap that was big enough for him. He lay down, stretched out on the side he still touched the two men next to him. Although the floor was damp and cold he slept after a few heartbeats, his body demanded rest, he was utterly spent.

 

“What brings you here at such a late hour, Mormirion?” Mo turned around and saw an orc leaning casually against a tunnel wall. “I brought back a slave. Are you on patrol, Sharû?” “Yes, or the guards sleep on watch.” The orc growled and changed the subject. “A new one? I heard you took one. How was he?” The orc came nearer. Mo hesitated for a moment. His first impulse was to keep the boy for himself but that was illusory. If he didn’t claim him, others would have him and if he did, Artano would find out and he could have kept him from the beginning.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad if Sharû had an eye on him. The orc was one of the first Melkor had made, he was much brighter than orcs of younger generations and hadn’t their causeless cruelty. Sharû treated the slaves well and Mo thought of him as a friend. “Yes, a pretty boy, brown haired, docile,” he replied. “I can recommend him but maybe you give him a few days. Let him settle in, he is a bit intimidated.” Sharû snorted. “Aren’t they all in the beginning? I don’t know you to be so soft.”

Mo shrugged, trying not to let his thoughts show. He pretended to not care about the slaves, he didn’t want to give Artano any point of action. “He was obedient, I believe that can be rewarded. It is seldom that one of them doesn’t need any persuasion.” Sharû grinned so broadly Mo could see his sharp teeth. “Maybe your welcoming speech made a dent.” “Possible. Everything fine here?”

“Yes, the usual. The general is in a bad mood because he wants to please the king and nothing works as he thinks it should, but you know how he gets.” “Yes, I know.” Mo sighed. He was Artano’s adjutant, he got to feel his tempers directly, his back was sore, but as much as he liked Sharû, he couldn’t tell him something like that. “I have to go now, remain alert.” Mo greeted and went back to bed.

 

Mablung shot up with a cry of pain when someone stepped on his fingers. The someone swore above him. He shied away when the voice started to talk next to his ear. “Quiet or we’ll wake the whole room. Are you new?” Mablung whispered a scared Yes. Who was that? “Wait a moment, I’ll take care of something.” The disembodied voice wandered a bit to the right. “Move a bit, Finban.”

The elf beside him groaned and moved aside. The other laid down in the gab. “It is going to be a bit cramped, I fear. Would it trouble you if I laid my Arm around you?” Mablung shook his head and added a quiet “No” when he realized that the other couldn’t see him in the utter dark. “My name is Reviahûn.” “Mablung.” Reviahûn embraced him gently. “Try to sleep, Mablung, you will need your strength. I will help you tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter Two

Mablung mumbled reluctantly when someone woke him by shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes regretfully and sat up, for a moment he didn’t remember where he was. His neck hurt because of the hard stone floor and he was cold. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against the lids to stop his tears. He felt sore and battered. 

“Hush, little one.” Reviahûn rubbed his back soothingly. “I know it is hard.” They sat for a while silently, around them the elves started to move. Mablung realized that they had light. Someone had brought them a torch. “I know that at first everything is too much, but you need to stand up or they will beat you. You have to be strong or you will die.” Mablung sighed and closed his eyes. Death didn’t sound like the worst alternative, although Mandos waited there. 

“Little one! Mablung. Mablung, look at me!” Reviahûn cupped his face in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “I know what you think, that death would be better than this but believe me, you don’t want to die. Look inside yourself, do you want them to win? Bad things happened to you and you will have to face worse but don’t let them win. Do you want them to think they defeated you? Stay alive, Mablung. Somewhere out there is your family. Don’t you want to see them again?” 

Mablung’s eyes filled with tears when he thought of his family, his parents, his sister. He hadn’t even said goodbye. And Glorfindel, had he survived? “Of course”, he said and heard himself how pitiful it sounded. “Then be strong and live.” Reviahûn pulled him to his feet and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. Mablung nodded, he wasn’t sure he could get through what awaited him but he would try at least. 

“Good.” Reviahûn smiled encouragingly. “Listen to me. You are not alone, we slaves hold together, we help each other. If you feel bad, talk to someone, you don’t have to be ashamed, we experienced the same. You get accustomed to everything somehow, but it needs time. A few important things before we have to go. You speak only Noldorin?” 

Mablung shook his head. “And Telerin.” He swallowed hard. His Teleri friends... what would they think of him if they knew... Reviahûn smiled. “That’s great, it will make it easier for you to understand the others. Their language is very different from Quenya but it has many similarities with the Telerin dialect. The way the Maiar and orcs speak, is not so different from what you know. 

If someone talks to you, kneel with bowed head and lace your hand on your back. Don’t look them in the eyes unless they order you to! If it’s a Maia you bow down until your forehead touches the floor. If they order you to stand, leave your hands on the back and spread your legs a bit. Follow every order immediately and never speak without being asked. Be careful, not all of them are cruel, some are alright in fact if you don’t provoke them, but all of them demand submission. Act as inconspicuous as possible, it’s for the best. The Captain is a decent guy, although a bit cranky, but he is not cruel. Put yourself on good terms with him. He doesn’t take disobedience lightly.” 

Reviahûn lifted his head when and orc came through the opening in the wall and called to them. It took a while for Mablung to understand him, his pronunciation was too different to what he was used to. He followed Reviahûn and the other elves from the cave. “And now?”, he whispered. “No we have to work. We mine ore. Stay at my side, I will look after you.” “Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you.” “It’s fine, little one. We have to hold together or we wouldn’t survive.” They walked on silently.

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung sat with his back to the wall and slowly ate his ration of soup and bread. He was so tired his eyes fell closed on their own account. If it weren’t for the gnawing hunger he would have fallen asleep instantly. To spare his raw hands he balanced bowl and bread on his fingertips. It was now a week, if his counting was still right, and his hands seemed to consist only of blisters and raw flesh. It hurt so much he felt nauseous, today he had thought he wouldn’t be able to lift the pickaxe even one more time. Somehow he had made it through the day but he dreaded tomorrow. 

Reviahûn sat down next to him, he and Finban slept beside him each night, they warmed each other as much as was possible. He looked so worried at him Mablung felt embarrassed. He looked after him as good as he could although it wasn’t easier for him. Reviahûn carefully caressed the back of his hands. The torch they got each evening had burned down nearly halfway, soon they would go to sleep. Mablung winced when the older elf touched the sore skin. His hand throbbed. “It will get better, hold on for a little longer. After the calluses form it won’t hurt any longer.” 

Mablung leaned exhausted against him. “I don’t know if I can keep going. It hurts so much, Reviahûn, I can’t stand it any longer.” Reviahûn pulled him close. “Of course you can. You are strong, Mablung, you survived the Ice. You will survive this. I know it.” 

“Reviahûn!” Mablung felt him tense when the voice echoed through the cave. “Come over, the general wants you.” “I have to go, I’m sorry.” Reviahûn tried to give him a hopeful smile but his lips trembled. Mablung saw that he was frightened. He pressed himself to the wall and followed Reviahûn with his eyes. He didn’t want to be alone now. 

Finban slid over and embraced him. “Come”, he murmured. “I’ll stay with you.” Mablung buried his face at his neck. “It hurts so much!”, he sobbed exhausted. Finban petted his arm. “I know, but you have nearly made it through the worst part. A few days and it will get better, I promise.” Mablung nodded half asleep. His hands throbbed with the beat of his heart and felt hot, but he was so tired. So terribly tired.

 

~*~*~

 

“Hello, little elf.” Mablung stiffened with a cry of dismay when a big hand closed on his shoulder. The orc, it was the captain, laughed. “So jumpy. You don’t need to fear me, elfling, if you obey.” Mablung looked at him wide-eyed. No one of the masters had talked to him since he had been brought here. It seemed his period of grace was over. He remembered what Reviahûn had told him, laid his hands on his back and bowed his head, he couldn’t bring himself to spread his legs, he felt helpless enough. 

“Very good”, the captain murmured. His language sounded strange to Mablung’s ears but he understood him. “You won’t fight, will you?” “No, herdir.” Mablungs voice trembled. “Get a little closer.” The orc pulled him against him and kissed his lips, his hands with the long claws caressed Mablung’s back. He shivered, it felt good in a strange way. His stomach lurched, he was disgusted by himself. 

“Turn around!”, the orc ordered and pushed him back. Mablung obeyed, his face only a finger’s breadth away from the rock. A hand between his shoulder blades pushed him against the wall. The orc panted into his ear, his arousal hard. Mablung closed his eyes and let it happen.

 

Mablung kneeled on the floor, his arms wrapped around his body. His hands bled, the half-healed wounds had opened again. Captain Sharû looked down at him contemplatively. “Stand up”, he said not unfriendly. “It can’t have been so bad.” Mablung sobbed but the orc was right. He hadn’t hurt him on purpose. The captain touched his shoulder. “Follow me, elfling, I think I have something for you.” 

Mablung went after him warily. They left the mines and walked a short way down a tunnel set with doors. After a while the captain pulled out a bunch of keys and unlocked one of the doors. Mablung hesitated at the door and looked into the room. “Don’t be shy!” The orc laughed. “Come in.” Mablung followed the order. They stood in a small room with rough-hewn stonewalls. Wood lay in a hearth, ready to be kindled. A few torches, which the orc lit, offered light. A writing desk of dark wood dominated the room. Loose leaves lay on it. 

The orc pulled a small wooden chest out of a drawer and opened it. “Here.” To Mablung’s utter surprise he offered him an apple. “Take it. You like apples, don’t you?” “Yes, herdir, thank you.” Mablung took it carefully, he was still wary. “I just don’t understand why. I didn’t do something special.” The captain shrugged. “No, you didn’t, but you didn’t struggle either and I feel like being nice.” Mablung nearly replied but he remembered that he wasn’t allowed to speak. “Well, I have to finish something. Do you find back on your own?” “Yes, herdir.” The orc nodded and dismissed him with a gesture of his hand. 

Mablung walked out and followed the hallway back. On the way he bit into the apple and savoured the taste with closed his eyes. Maybe the captain really wasn’t so bad after all. Although he craved to eat the whole fruit he restrained himself after a few bites, he wanted to share it with Reviahûn and Finban.

 


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now betaed by: [othersideofforty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/othersideofforty)

Mo smiled pleased when he opened the door and the little slave stood before him. He was clearly frightened but he was here. The orc who had brought him saluted and left. “Come in.” First he would wash him, he looked as if his skin hadn’t seen water since he had left him in the mines. The slave followed him haltingly, in the bathroom already stood a tub with warm water.

“Hop in.” Mo smiled encouraging at him and followed him into the water. The slave stiffened when he pulled him close. “Relax”, Mo murmured while he reached for the sponge. The slave sighed when the warm water ran over his skin. Soon the water took on a dark colour and Mo stood up. First he dried himself, then he wrapped the slave into the towel and dried him too.

The boy recoiled when Mo started to caress him. “Don’t withdraw from the touch of your Master”, Mo warned and continued to explore his body with his hands. The boy needed to get used to being touched. It didn’t take long until the slave’s breathing became faster, his nipples hardened at his touch.

Mo sucked at his earlobe and when he reached between his legs, the slave pushed into his hand, a quiet moan on his lips. Mo smiled when he blushed and kissed him thoroughly. He broke the kiss a moment later and turned around to put his bathrobe on. The slave tried to cover his arousal with his hands when he turned around again.

Mo shook his head displeased. “Take your hands away”, he said sternly. He wouldn’t tolerate such nonsense. Slowly the slave let his hands sink, his face had turned a dark red. Mo gripped his chin and let the slave see how he let his gaze wander over his body. “You don’t need to be ashamed, I like it when my slave is aroused. A few new rules: You were told that you have to lower your eyes?” “Yes, herdir.”

“Good. You follow me a step behind and to the right, if I stop, you kneel, if I sit down, you kneel at my side. You lace your hands on your back. Do you understand?” “Yes, herdir.” The slave moaned when he touched his arousal. “And this”, Mo squeezed gently, “belongs to me. You will only come if I allow it. Now follow me.”

 

Mablung followed the Maia, his Master, on weak legs, the blood throbbed in his ears, his cheeks burned with shame. He wanted to come, but it would surely be some time until his Master allowed it. His stomach growled when he smelled food. He was so hungry, they never got enough to eat, regardless of how hard they worked. Would he share it with him? The table was only set for one person but his Master certainly wouldn’t sit at the table with a slave.

He remembered what his Master had told him and knelt down beside him. Mablung winced when his Master picked up the crop that had lain ready on the table. Had he done something wrong? But his Master only touched it to his thigh. “Spread your legs wider, slave.”

Mo caressed the slave’s back with the crop. “You don’t have to be frightened of it as long as you obey”, he said gently and laid it back on the table. That wasn’t quite true but he hoped he could make the difference clear to him. “Are you hungry?” “Yes, herdir.” Mo cut a piece of meat and held it to his lips. The slave looked at him with wide eyes but let himself be fed and averted his eyes hastily when he remembered his rules.

Mo let it be – for the present. He didn’t want to punish him that would disturb his plans for the evening. After the meal he pushed back his chair. “Kneel between my legs.” He opened his bathrobe and stroked himself, eyes on the slave. He had started to tremble but he didn’t look like he would panic any moment. Mo ran his hand through his hair and pushed his head down. “Suck me, slave.”

Mablung obeyed reluctantly. He knew he didn’t have a choice but that didn’t make it better. It didn’t take long until his Master’s hand tightened in his hair and Mablung knew he did well. It was all that he could do, obey and hope that his Master was pleased. He had seen Reviahûn’s back after the nights with Sauron. His Master came in his mouth with a low moan. “Swallow it.” Mablung shivered with disgust but he obeyed. “Well done, slave”, his Master murmured a bit breathless and petted his hair.

 

The slave’s hair was a little marvel. Mo wrapped a lock around his finger. It was a shame that he had to wear it so short. There weren’t many elves with hair curled this much. Ere he could lose himself in rhapsodies about it he stood up. He had planned a lot for tonight. He beckoned him to follow and went to the closet that stood in the corner near his bed, he took the crop with him.

He had a separate room with bigger equipment but it would only scare him needlessly, this would be quite enough. Mo pulled the slave in front of him and held him close before he opened the doors. The slave uttered a scared whimper when he registered the contents of the closet. Mo felt his muscles tense and held him firmly, he shouldn’t even come up with the idea of trying to run. He was aware, of course, that the floggers and whips were making a startling impression on the boy. Mo caressed his shoulders.

“I like to inflict pain, it arouses me and you will have to endure it. It isn’t a punishment. I will teach you how to deal with the pain and accustom you slowly to these things.” He lifted the crop and caressed the slave’s body with it. His nipples hardened when Mo rubbed them, he touched him between the legs and stroked him until he moved into his hand, then he opened a drawer and took out a clamp.

A moan escaped Mablung against his will. Arousal thrummed through his body when his Master stroked him, the crop ghosted over his skin without slapping him, it was a strange feeling. He screamed, taken aback when a sharp pain bit into his right nipple, a metal clamp was closed around it.

Ere he could recover from the shock, his Master repeated the treatment on his other nipple. He couldn’t stop his eyes from brimming over.He didn’t dare to brush away the tears as they ran freely down his cheeks. What difference did it make if this was punishment or not, it hurt anyway!

Mo kissed the slave behind the ear and circled his aching nipples with his fingertip. He waited patiently until he breathed easier, only then did he change the crop for a flogger. “Take it.” The slave reached for it reluctantly. “I want you to understand what I’m going to do to you.” “Why, herdir?” The slave whimpered when Mo twisted one of the clamps. “You didn’t have the permission to speak, slave.”

He would have to learn this fast but he answered the question anyway. “I don’t want you to panic and do something imprudent. I don’t want to punish you, in my experience it only ruins the evening, but I will do it if you force me. Maybe you won’t be so frightened if you understand what is going to happen. Right, look at the straps, they are wide and soft. It won’t hurt much, not like the whips your overseers use. Give it to me and kneel on the bed, your forehead touches the mattress, lace your hand behind your head.”

The slave’s hand trembled when he laid the flogger into his outstretched hand. Mo watched him while he followed his instructions, his waking arousal throbbed. He would enjoy it so much to beat him! Mo strolled to the bed and stroked his back, he was tight as a bowstring. “Try to relax, it will lessen the pain.” He didn’t wait to see if his advice was accepted.

He paused after a few slaps and licked over the reddened skin. The slave shivered. “Don’t fight the pain. Allow it and you will realize it isn’t that bad.” The slave shook his head weakly but kept still, he moaned with every strike. Mo knelt behind him and kneaded the heated skin, the slave whimpered. Mo tried to go slow but he was so close, he couldn’t hold back entirely as he thrust into him.

 

Mablung was so exhausted he didn’t really notice when his Master cleaned him and treated his burning backside with a salve. His Master took off the clamps and he hissed with pain as the blood shot back into his nipples. He nearly had forgotten that he wore them but now it was worse than when his Master had first put them on. His Master caressed his nipples with oily fingers and Mablung shivered.

“That’s not wholly unpleasant, is it?” “No, herdir”, Mablung mumbled embarrassed. Although he was no longer aroused and his nipples hurt it was a... pleasant feeling. His Master smiled and kissed his forehead. “You will learn, slave. Stay in bed for a while longer.”

And if he didn’t want to learn? If he only wanted to be left in peace? A tear ran down Mablung’s cheek but he pulled himself together. He didn’t want to cry again, his Master’s patience surely wasn’t inexhaustible. And he felt like he didn’t deserve peace, after the murder he had committed. Maybe this was his punishment, the fulfilment of the Doom.

 

“Are you fine?”, Reviahûn whispered the next day while they worked. “Yes”, Mablung answered just as quietly. “Good.” Reviahûn sighed relieved. “Mormirion can be severe, be careful.” Mablung nodded but he asked himself how he should be careful if he didn’t have a choice. His backside hurt at every move, he nearly hadn’t been able to put on his trousers.

The prospect of it becoming even worse frightened him, he had seen the contents of Mormirion’s closet after all. How was he supposed to endure this? Mormirion seemed to be of the mind that he would get used to it. Maybe it would be as with his hands, he thought, rubbing his calloused palms. They pained him sometimes but they didn’t bleed anymore.

He had gotten used to the hard work and little food, maybe he would get used to the beating, too. He would find out soon enough, Mormirion expected him regularly now. He shivered at the thought that he might disappoint the Maia. What would he do if he didn’t get used to it?

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung moaned loudly when the cane bit into his skin already sore from the slaps of a flogger, it was unbearable. He tried to follow the advice his master gave him every time before he started, to accept the pain. Mablung didn’t understand what he meant by it but he didn’t dare to ask. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that the burning was a part of him.

His Master had stopped for a moment, his cool fingers caressed the welts and suddenly it was... different. It did still hurt but it wasn’t completely unpleasant anymore. Mablung shook his head bewildered. Was he going mad? He felt himself becoming aroused when his Master scratched his nails lightly over his sore backside and prepared him quickly. His Master wrapped his hand around his arousal when he entered him.

“Don’t you dare to come without my order”, he groaned into his ear. Mablung felt his body move against his Master without his own intention. His body didn’t care that the Maia regarded him his possession, it felt pleasure and wanted to be satisfied. His Master stroked him in the rhythm of his thrusts and Mablung moaned helplessly, this time with desperate desire. He didn’t know how long he would be able to hold back. The thrusts of his Master became harder. “Come”, he gasped and Mablung sobbed relieved, his seed coating his Master’s hand.


	5. Chapter Four

Mablung lay motionless in the darkness. It was late but he couldn’t sleep, his heart raced too much. Silent tears ran down his cheeks but he didn’t brush them away, he didn’t even know if he could, his body felt numb and cold. A few orcs had taken him with them this evening and it had been bad. Worse than with Mormirion although they hadn’t beaten him. It had been as if he were a thing. They hadn’t even chosen him for some specific reason, he just had been at the wrong spot at the wrong time.

In this moment he wished nothing more than to die. Maybe he wouldn’t stand up tomorrow. They would beat him to death but wasn’t that better than this life that wasn’t one? He didn’t want to be always hungry, he didn’t want to work until he dropped and he didn’t want to be abused any longer. He turned on his side and coiled into a tight ball as if this could lessen the pain of his soul. He could only do it because Reviahûn had been summoned by Sauron again.

He closed his eyes and hoped Mandos would come and take him, but Mandos wouldn’t come. The Valar closed their hearts against the pleading of the Noldor. And wasn’t this a just punishment for someone who had committed a murder? Mablung sobbed quietly when he remembered the face of the Teler, contorted in pain, who he had killed. No, Mandos wouldn’t give him release. He stretched out again when Reviahûn came back, so he could lie down. Mablung realized immediately that something was wrong. Reviahûn trembled violently, his breath coming in gasps, Mablung smelled blood.

“Reviahûn, what’s wrong?”, he whispered. “Embrace me... Mablung... please”, his voice was so thick with tears he nearly didn’t get the words out. Mablung was frightened he had never seen Reviahûn this weak. He moved closer and held him tight. Reviahûn huddled close and started to speak again. “Promise... promise that you will live.” Mablung stared into the darkness, he wished he were able to see his face. “What do you mean? Reviahûn, what happened?” Mablungs stomach cramped.

“It’s... over. I’m dying, Mablung. Promise that you will fight.” Mablung sobbed. “No, you can’t die. Don’t leave me alone. Reviahûn, I need you!” He couldn’t make it without him, Reviahûn had always been there. “It is too late. Promise...” Reviahûn stopped, he was too weak to keep talking. “I promise.” Mablung cried without restraint. “I will live, I promise.” “Then I can go home now.” It was only a whisper and soon Mablung felt Reviahûns breathing stop. Mablung embraced the lifeless body and buried his face in his hair to soften his sobs, he didn’t want to wake anyone. It hurt so much to lose Reviahûn, he wished he were able to follow him, but he had given a promise. He would live.

 

When he woke the next morning, Reviahûn was gone. Mablung shot up and looked around startled. It couldn’t be, he hadn’t only dreamt that! Finban saw his disorientation and looked around too. “Where is Reviahûn?” “I don’t know. He died last night.” Mablung started to cry again. “And now he is gone” Finban embraced him. “Hush, nethben. He is home now.” Mablung looked at him blankly. “He was... he is a Maia. He served Manwe and was captured by Morgoth when he escaped from Aman. He has been here since then and yearned to go back to his Master but Morgoth’s sorcery held him. When his body died he could go.”

“I understand.” Mablung sniffed, then he smiled. “He isn’t really dead then? That is nice.” Why hadn’t Reviahûn told him? Why had he let him believe that he was an elf? Mablung stood up when the time came to work and joined the queue. No one seemed to notice that Reviahûn was missing. They were so insignificant. It happened far too often that an elf fell down and didn’t stand up again or lay dead on the floor at morning. Mablung didn’t know what they did with the bodies and he didn’t want to think about it. He had heard dark rumours although Reviahûn had tried to shield him from them. He was glad that nothing remained of his friend that could have been defiled.

 

Mo walked up and down the room seething with rage. How dare this little no-good to disobey him? He knew that he expected him, he had been always punctual until now. He should brace himself because he wouldn’t be gentle this time! Mo had thought it would get better after the slave had been so aroused last time. He had looked forward to this evening. The door opened, he had sent to orcs to retrieve the slave.

He could feel the slave’s panic well when they forced him to his knees in front of him but today he wouldn’t show sympathy, the slave had only himself to blame. Mo dismissed the orcs with a wave of his hand and focused on the slave who was about to stand up. “Remain where you are”, he snapped at him and the slave froze. “How dare you defy me?” Mo pulled his head back by the hear and slapped him hard in the face. “You will do exactly as I say, slave, and maybe I will be merciful, or you will wish you were never born.” The slave sobbed and nodded. “Bring me the whip, you know which one.”

The slave flinched but he stood up and walked to the closet. Mo had told him from the very fist which whip was reserved for disobedient slaves and especially grave offences. It was made to injure, Mo only used it rarely and never for pleasure, but today it was necessary to teach the slave a lesson that stuck. The slave knelt down before him and offered him the whip with trembling hands. Mo took it and ran his fingers through the knotted straps. “Go through the right door”, he ordered coldly.

He had wanted to wait for a bit until he showed him the room but he had no choice now. Mo followed the slave after a moment, a bit surprised that he obeyed. The boy, he shouldn’t forget how young he was, cried silently. His eyes were wide and he looked at him pleadingly. “Please...” Mo shook his head and gave him a stern look. “Don’t make it worse, slave.” He grabbed him by the neck and lead him to the cross. Although the boy trembled violently he stretched his arms without Mo having to order him.

While he tied him to the cross, Mo reduced the number of lashes he intended to give him. He had reckoned with an untoward, defiant slave, this was not what he had expected. Why had he refused to come? He must have know that he wouldn’t leave it at that. The rage that had burned so hot in him just a few moments ago had reduced to a weak glow. He had to punish him, he couldn’t allow open insubordination, but he wouldn’t delight in it. “Twelve lashes, slave, you will count them.”

The slave stifled a whimper when the first strike connected with his back and left dark welts on his skin. Mo didn’t beat him as hard as he could have, it wasn’t necessary, the slave’s back was bloody when he finished regardless. Mo put the whip away and untied him, supported him when his legs buckled. He led him slowly into his bedroom and helped him to lie down. With a cloth he dabbed the blood away gently and spread a salve on the welts. His rage had subsided and he didn’t want the wounds to become infected. The slave cried and sobbed loudly, Mo was sure that he would never disobey again.

“Why?”, he asked gently. “Reviahûn”, the boy answered hoarsely. “He died two days ago. I... I know that what S...”, he paused alarmed, “...that what the general did to him is not so different from what you do to me. I’m so sad and I’m frightened, herdir.” Mo knew very well what name the slave had nearly called Artano, but he pretended to not have heard it. He was disappointed, after their last night together he had thought the slave had understood that he was different from his superior – but who was he kidding?

And the death of a friend would have thrown everyone off course. He had heard of Reviahûn’s death and had been secretly relieved. The Maia’s suffering had lasted long enough. “And”, the boy whispered so quietly he nearly couldn’t hear him, “I don’t want to like it.” The slave curled up and moaned when the movement pulled on the welts. “It’s wrong.”

“I’m not the general, slave, I don’t take pleasure in torturing my slaves to death.” He petted his head. “If I wanted that, I wouldn’t take pains to train you properly. And in regard to the other thing... what’s your name, nethben?” The slave stiffened amazed, surely no one of his masters had asked him his name since he had been captured. “Mablung, herdir”, he answered eventually.

“You will have to live with it, Mablung. As I said before, I like it when my slaves are aroused. Your body doesn’t care what you think of it. Even now, despite you being in great pain, I could make you come with a few touches, if you liked it or not. You don’t need to be ashamed. Allow it, Mablung, it will be easier for you.” Mo kissed his forehead. “I can teach you to feel pleasure from pain but you have to allow it. One thing must be clear to you”, Mo put more severity into his voice, “I will have you either way. It would be more enjoyable for both of us if you wouldn’t fight it.”

Mablung nodded but wasn’t convinced. He was disgusted by himself, Mormirion’s words couldn’t change that. “Are you still angry at me, herdir?”, he asked shyly. “No, you got your punishment. Sleep now and don’t ever anger me like that again. I have been merciful today, but maybe you can’t see that. Next time your punishment will be more severe.” To his astonishment his Master stood up and prepared to leave. Mablung didn’t dare to ask what he intended, he had just spoken without permission and was relieved that his Master had ignored it, he didn’t want to exhaust his luck.

 

Mablung lay awake for a long time, his back hurt too much to let him sleep, though the bed was deliciously comfortable and warm. He should savour that he hadn’t to sleep on the hard floor but his discomfort and the fact that he didn’t know where his Master was, didn’t let him relax. He didn’t want to be asleep when he came back. He was aware that Mormirion had been merciful with his punishment, he had witnessed public punishments and it was never over with twelve lashes, even when the offence had only been a supposedly disrespectful look, but he couldn’t thrust him enough to find sleep in his bed.

It was foolish, he would need his strength tomorrow, at best his overseers wouldn’t care that he had been beaten, but if he didn’t fulfil his workload he wouldn’t receive food and get a punishment again. He moaned when he moved and the welts flared up again. Could he really be trained to like this? Mablung shook his head. Surely that wasn’t what he meant, it couldn’t be his Master’s intend that he learned to like punishment.

Mablung remembered the much lesser, duller pain the wide-strapped flogger had caused, the not unpleasant tingling as his Master touched his nipples with oily fingers and the sharp, dragging pain of the cane that had aroused him so suddenly when his Master caressed the welts. He had no choice anyway, wouldn’t it be better to like it than to suffer even more? He had gotten a taste today of how his Master was when he was angry. His Master had told him in no uncertain terms what he expected of him. To submit to him meant not only to not fight him. He didn’t want to be punished, so he had to do what he wanted, if he liked it or not. Mablung sighed, he was too exhausted to think about it, but sleep wouldn’t come, his back burned and throbbed.

 

Mablung closed his eyes when his Master came back. If he saw that he was awake, maybe he wanted to have him tonight. “You aren’t sleeping?” Although he had tried to breathe deep and steady his Master seemed to know that he was awake. Mablung hesitated a moment to open his eyes, but he didn’t want to make him angry again. “No, herdir”, he answered. “It hurts so much.” Mormirion laid a hand on his forehead as if he wanted to see if he had a fever. His Master nodded slowly.

“Do you know what I normally would do to a slave who defies me?” Mablung shook his head, his heart raced. “I would set not less than fifty lashes for an offence like yours. Additionally the slave would remain tied to the cross for the night. I was merciful because you are very young and because you haven’t rebelled against your punishment, but you made a mistake and you will suffer the consequences, so don’t complain about the pain. Never, you got me?”

His Master looked sternly at him and Mablung lowered his eyes. “Yes, herdir, I’m sorry.” “Keep it in mind and remember it if you are tempted to do something that could entail punishment.” His Master undressed and laid down beside him before he snuffed the candle. Mablung closed his eyes again, he didn’t think he could sleep better now, but the slow breathing of the Maia calmed him and eventually exhaustion gained the upper hand.

 

Mo was a bit disorientated when he woke. It had been a long time since a slave had last slept in his bed, normally he sent them away after he had had them. It was a precaution. Orcs gossiped and Artano would hear of it if he had something for a longer time. He took a risk, but today it was calculable. It was his day off, Artano was away on Melkor’s errand and even if he heard, he could tell him that he had had the slave tied up for the night, he would believe him. Mo stood up and stretched until his joints cracked. He would keep the slave here until the evening. He knew how stiff and sore he would be when he woke up and he didn’t believe that he could endure a workday in the mines.

Mo rubbed his neck and sighed, he was too tender with him but he couldn’t treat him otherwise. He saw potential in him and precisely because he was still so young he could maybe coax him to surrender completely to him. Most slaves submitted, because they feared punishment, but they withdrew into themselves when he took them. He wanted more than this soulless surrender. Maybe he expected too much but this boy had raised the hope for more in him.

Mo turned around to wake him and realized that he was being mustered by gray eyes. The slave looked away swiftly but he could feel his bewilderment. Mo became aware that the marks of his last night with Artano must be clearly visible. Surely he recognised the welts for what they were and wondered who had hit him. Mo wasn’t going to tell him, he didn’t want to think about it and the slave wouldn’t dare to ask.

“Get up”, he ordered while he put on his uniform. “You will keep me company today.” He heard him moan softly when he rose slowly but he heard too that he tried to stifle it. He had taken his rebuke to heart. He smiled when the boy let his gaze wander. In search for clothes? He had ordered the orcs to undress him before they brought him. “You won’t need clothes today”, he said. “But I will give you new ones before I bring you back.” Many slaves worked naked because the clothes they had worn when they had been captured were long gone. No one was interested in clothing slaves but the notion of his slave running around naked where all these orcs could see didn’t appeal to him.

The boys cheeks turned a bright red. Mo lifted his chin and kissed him gently. He thought a moment about acquainting him with the concept of wearing a collar but decided against it, it was too early. “Come.” He went to his living room and sat down at the table where his breakfast was ready. The boy knelt beside him, Mo saw him licking his lips. Mo poured him a glass of water and handed it down to him. “Drink.” He didn’t have to tell him twice.

 

Mablung knelt on the floor and was bored. He had been frightened when his Master said that he would spend the day with him but that fear had evaporated by now. His Master had only fed him at breakfast and had sat down in front of the fireplace. He stared into the fire and caressed his head sometimes. Mablung shifted his weight cautiously, his knees hurt and his feet were asleep, they would hurt when he had to stand up, if he was even able to stand up alone. He didn’t know what to make of the behaviour of his Master.

Was he supposed to take the initiative? Did his Master want that? Did he want him to offer himself? No, he couldn’t do that. He was glad that he was left alone, the welts hurt with every move, but it made him nervous. Suddenly he realized that the fire moved strangely. Had it done that the whole time? Mablung watched spellbound how it formed abstract figures. Was that his Master’s doing? He had no idea, after all, what a Maia was capable of doing, he only knew that they were much more powerful than an elf would ever be.

Wasn’t it right then, that he made him his servant? Shouldn’t he not aim to please him more then? His father had been proud to serve his prince and he had encouraged him to be a good servant. What would he think if he could see him now? Mablung was sure that the things Mormirion asked of him hat never been part of his father’s service. “Do you wonder why I have made you kneel beside me the whole day?”, his Master suddenly asked. “Yes, herdir.” “A slave has to be patient. You do well, nethben, you are used to waiting, aren’t you?”

It shouldn’t matter to him but the praise made him glad. “Yes, herdir, I was a servant in the palace.” He had hated it, had wanted to be somewhere else, but he had complied – and now he would too. His Master smiled at him. “Try to stand, slowly.” Mablung hissed with pain when he forced himself to his feet. A thousand needles seemed to prick his skin, he staggered. His Master supported him and led him slowly to the bedroom. “You will get used to this, too.” He rubbed his feet until feeling came back to them, his hands wandered further up, massaged his thighs gently. Mablung sighed with pleasure. It felt good this way, completely without pain though his back still hurt. His Master pushed his legs apart, oily fingers entered him slowly. Sometimes it really wasn’t that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> herdir - master  
> nethben - young one (I don't use pen-neth because I once read this article and I sometimes like to be contrary: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4215895)


	6. Chapter Five

Mo talked to Sharû while they watched the slaves collecting their meal. He started when he saw Mablung hobbling past, supported by another elf. His right leg was covered in abrasions up to the knee, it pained him obviously to put weight on it. “What happened?” Both slaves gave a jerk when he addressed them. “I slipped into a crack, herdir.” The slave was pale and shivering.

‘Shock’, Mo thought absentmindedly. “But it isn’t so bad, I just need to take a rest.” “Of course.” Mo saw the fear in the slave’s eyes. A slave who couldn’t work was a dead slave. “I came here to take you with me, slave, you will keep me company tonight.” It wasn’t their usual day, so he had come himself. He hadn’t wanted him to think that he had done something wrong by sending orcs. “Help him!”, he ordered the elf supporting Mablung. He would take care of him.

The boy lay in his bed, dirty as he was, soon after. Mo looked down at him pensively. He needed help. Whom could he trust? Maybe Sinthoras, he was experienced in these things, he was always friendly to him and there was this slight rivalry between him and Artano. He wouldn’t reveal him. “I will be back soon.” Mablung left the slave with a glass of water.

Since Reviahûn’s death, Artano lost interest more in the mines, he had much more to do, and left it to Mo to keep the ore-mining running. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t learn of this incident. He had no other choice than to hope the best, if he abandoned the slave to take care for himself he would surely die.

 

Mablung had dozed off despite the pain in his leg but woke immediately when Mormirion touched his shoulder. A foreign Maia stood next to him, Mablung knew him to be a Maia because his eyes were wholly black, no elf had such eyes. “How did this happen?”, he addressed him. “I slipped and caught my leg in a crack, herdir, I nearly didn’t get it out myself.”

The Maia ran his hands over his leg and moved the joint, Mablung gritted his teeth. He felt ill, it hurt so much. “Nothing is broken, it seems, but the ankle is badly sprained, it needs to be immobilised.” The Maia looked at Mormirion. “I can give you a salve for the abrasions and put a support bandage on the joint but that won’t help anything if he has to work again tomorrow.”

To Mablungs surprise his Master nodded and answered: “He stays here, I anticipated as much.” The foreign Maia washed his leg and applied a burning salve on the scraps before he wrapped his ankle in a tight bandage. “He should stress the ankle as little as possible the next five days. See to it that he stays in bed.” Mablung looked away embarrassed when Mormirion started to grin. “I can arrange that.”

The foreign Maia laughed. “I didn’t mean it that way. If it doesn’t get better in a few days, call me again.” His Master accompanied the Maia to the door, when he came back he asked: “Are you hungry?” “Yes, herdir.” He was always hungry, they never got enough to feel sated. His Master brought him a plate and sat down in the next room to eat himself.

Mablung was surprised that he shared his meal with him but he was glad. Why did he keep him here? He couldn’t even stand up alone, he didn’t believe that he was of much use at the moment. Now, as the greatest pain subsided, he became tired fast. He had difficulty to keep his eyes open long enough to eat up.

 

Mo examined his slave while he undressed. He lay on his side, his back to him and slept deeply. Mo would have liked to have sex with him but that wouldn’t be good for his foot – and he didn’t want to wake him. Gently he traced the red scars that remained from his punishment two weeks ago. He sighed deeply before he laid down and embraced him. He hoped Artano wouldn’t want him in the next few days, he would have a problem then. Artano wouldn’t understand why he helped Mablung and he would expect that he shared him with him.

The slave moaned when he accidentally brushed his leg. “I’m sorry”, Mo murmured, the slave's laugh sounded like a sob. “What?” “You normally don’t apologise when you hurt me, herdir.” “Because I don’t feel sorry, normally. You are very beautiful when I beat you”, Mo whispered into his ear and touched the lobe with his tongue, the slave shivered. Mo stroked his back, traced the healed welts. “Touch me.” His hand wasn’t hurt, was it? He closed his eyes when the slave shyly felt his way between his legs. He left the pace to him for this time, didn’t force him, just savoured it to be touched.

Mablung didn’t know what to think, he was frightened. The slaves had been told a thousand times that they weren’t worth a thing and that they would die if they couldn’t work. He was hurt, he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t work and he couldn’t even properly satisfy his Master’s needs. Of course Mormirion wanted more from him than giving him a hand job. And still he lay in his Master’s bed. Why did he help him when he was so obviously useless? He was glad, he didn’t want to die, but he didn’t understand what his Master thought. There were enough slaves he could take to his bed, he wasn’t special. Why did he always ask for him?

 

“Why do you care for me, herdir?”, Mablung asked when his Master came home at evening, it was the second day after his injury. He needed all his courage to talk, he wasn’t supposed to speak without permission, but he needed to know. His Master looked at him sternly. “You should know by now that you aren’t allowed to speak to your Master without order.”

“Yes, herdir.” Mablung took a shaky breath. “Punish me as you see fit, herdir.” “You are hurt”, Mormirion answered brusquely. “I won’t beat you.” He walked to the closet. “Why do you ask?” “I’m worthless with my injured foot, without you I would be dead already.” Mablung knew it to be the truth. If his Master hadn’t taken care of him he would have been killed. He wouldn’t have been able to stand up for work.

“Open your mouth.” His Master put a gag in his mouth and buckled it at his neck. “I hope this will teach you to hold your tongue. Your foot will heal. I think it makes perfect sense to feed you until you can walk again. It just starts to make sense to train you. I would be foolish to throw that away."

Mo nibbled at the slave’s bottom lip, his hand dove under the blanket and caressed his nipples that became hard at his touch. He needed all his self-control to not go further but the slave was hurt. Patience. “I already know exactly what I’m going to do with you when your foot is healed”, he whispered into his ear. The slave’s gasp when he pinched one nipple hard was slightly stifled with the gag in his mouth. Oh yes, he would savour every moment when he could have him properly again.

 

His Master had sat down in front of the fireplace and read through some documents. Mablung felt guilty because he occupied the bed. He didn’t understand why the Maia held back. He wouldn’t need his foot for sex. Maybe... Mablung hesitated but then he dared to stand up. The bandage supported his ankle, it hurt to put weight on it but he could hobble a few steps and he hadn’t to go far to reach his Master.

Only when he nearly stood next to him did he realise that it was impossible to kneel, his foot wouldn’t forgive him. His Master watched him when he awkwardly sat down on the floor. Mablung reached out with his hand and hesitantly caressed his thigh, he felt the muscles under his hand tense. He winced when his Master lifted his hand but he only opened the buckle and took the gag from his mouth.

“I have a better idea to keep you from talking”, he said and lifted his chin. “Yes, I think you will learn this week how to use your mouth to please me. Come closer.” Mablung slid between his legs and lowered his head. His Master opened his trousers and gently pushed his head down.

He took his time, stopped repeatedly to give him instructions with a voice that became more breathless as Mablung continued. Mablung’s jaw ached when his Master finally came but the discomfort was forgotten, when his Master wiped a bit of moisture from his lower lip and said: “Well done.” His Master was pleased with him and that was a good feeling, at this moment he didn’t fight it.

 

“How is your foot”, Mo asked when Mablung approached him. “Fine, herdir.” The slave helped him to get out of his uniform-jacket, not quite what he expected of a slave but Mo didn’t comment it. He was glad that he had lost a bit of his shyness, not so much of course that he would have treated him disrespectfully. The last days had been good, it would be hard to let him go but he couldn’t keep him. “I’m pleased to hear that.” He had held back, but today he wouldn’t have to. Mo had already pictured in every detail how he would have him today.

Mablung shivered when he saw the look his Master gave him. He had felt his simmering lust all these days, he had pleasured him with his mouth but that wasn’t enough of course, his Master wanted him completely. “Come to me.” Mormirion had sat down at the table. Mablung trembled a bit, it wasn’t cold in the room but he felt cold fast and he was naked. “You will be warm soon, slave.” His Master grinned at him and took his time with his meal.

“Fetch me the clamps and the medium weights”, he finally said. Mablung grimaced, he didn’t like the clamps, they always upset him and he didn’t believe that he would ever like _this_ pain. But he didn’t hesitate, he would serve his Master well. He owed him that at least after he had saved him from certain death. Mablung again knelt beside him, only a short straining reminded him that his ankle wasn’t yet as strong as before, and offered the clamps to his Master.

He sucked in his breath when his Master closed them around his nipples and attached the weights to them. His Master caressed his chest with warm fingers. He kissed him and Mablung kissed back, his Master liked that. In the last few days he had learned more about his Master’s preferences than in all the nights before even though, or maybe because, he hadn’t even beaten him.

A hand wrapped around his balls and rolled them gently. Mablung shivered with pleasure and pushed against his Master’s hand. He gasped when he gripped tighter. “Do you like this, slave?” His Master tucked at his sac and drew a moan from Mablung. “Do you like it when I squeeze them a bit too hard?” “Yes, herdir.” Mablung couldn’t stop himself from moaning again. He didn’t have to lie to please his Master.

“I have something new for you.” His Master pulled a short leather-cylinder from his pocket. “You will like this, slave.” His Master dragged his thumb over the moist tip of Malbung’s arousal. Mablung shrank back instinctively when his Master closed the item tight around his balls. Asking silently for forgiveness he moved close again.

Mormirion hung two weights from rings in the leather and when Mablung did not try to get away this time, although the pain brought tears to his eyes, he petted his head and said: “Good boy.” He pushed at the weights at his nipples to make them sway. “Stand up, I want to look at you.” Mablung obeyed awkwardly. He was still aroused and the strange, tugging pain wouldn’t change that, on the contrary.

His Master looked him over, to Mablung it seemed as if he could feel his gaze like a touch. “So beautiful.” His Master dragged his nail up the inside of his thigh, Mablung shivered violently and moaned when his Master wrapped his hand around his arousal and gave it a few strokes, he was already so close. “Please...”, he whimpered.

His Master tucked sharply on the weights between his legs. “Silence!” But then he smiled. “So you want to come, slave, yes?” “Yes, herdir.” Mablung made a protesting noise when he took away his hand. “You will have to earn it, slave. Lie down on the bed, on your back.” His Master tied his hands to the headboard then he walked to the closet and retrieved a short whip he hadn’t used before.

“Do you know what this is, slave?”, he asked. “A flogger, herdir”, Mablung answered warily. His Master laughed softly. “Yes, but for a special body-part.” He caressed his arousal with the handle and Mablung tensed horrified. “No, Master, please”, he whimpered. He couldn’t be serious! His Master silenced him with a kiss. “This is going to happen, slave.”

Mablung pulled at his restraints, it wasn’t a conscious decision, but he panicked and his body had decided that he needed to get away. His Master caressed his hipbone. “Calm down”, he said gently, he didn’t seem to be angry. “I won’t harm you, I promise. Have I ever done something to you that you couldn’t bear?”

Mablung stared at him. Was he serious? But then he realised that he was right. He had hurt him as no one had before, had pushed his limits again and again, but he had always stopped before it had become too much for him. “No, herdir.” “And I won’t today.” His Master kissed him possessively and the first slap burned on Mablung’s thigh. He continued a while like this, caressed his burning skin until Mablung writhed with pleasure.

The first slap against his arousal made him cry out. It hurt so much but still... But still. Ironically the slaps made it only harder for him not to come. What was wrong with him? Then again, this wasn’t probably the best time to think about it. He dug his heels into the mattress, his balls throbbed in their prison.

 

Mo lifted one of the slave’s legs and penetrated him with one deep thrust. He felt him tense, the slave would come soon, with or without his permission and he was close too. “Come for me, slave.” The slave moaned, his body shivering. Mo let himself be swept away, enjoyed letting himself fall into his music. Afterwards he embraced him and tugged a sweaty strand of hair behind his ear.

He liked to lie beside him now as much as he had liked to beat him just a few moments ago. When it was like this he almost regretted that he mustn’t let the slave forget that his gentleness was a gift. Then again, he had done well. “You pleased me very much today, slave”, he murmured stroking his back. The slave sighed contently when he rubbed  his neck. “Is this nice?” “Yes, herdir.”

Mo smiled. No complaint about the clamps that surely made him uncomfortable. He opened the straps that held the leather in place before he turned to the clamps. The slave hissed when he took them off, Mo sucked gently at the sore nipples. “Better?” “Yes, herdir”, his voice sounded hoarse. “Good.” Mo continued to caress him and the slave snuggled into him. “That’s right”, Mo murmured softly. “Accept it.”

Mablung felt something inside him shift to the right place. He wasn’t ashamed anymore that it aroused him to be taken by Mormirion. It wasn’t wrong, his Master wanted it, so it wasn’t wrong. He was a slave, it was his duty to please him. As long as he obeyed it wasn’t so bad.

He was lucky, his Master had so much patience with him that even things that frightened him at first became bearable. He couldn’t take his gentleness for granted, it was a gift, but he wasn’t angry about it anymore. That was part of his life as slave. As long as he tried to please his Master, he would be nice. That was his life now and in this moment he could accept it for the first time. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, at peace with the world and himself.

 

Mablung woke with smarting crotch in his Master’s arm. He enjoyed for a moment to be held, it was seldom like this, normally he sent him back after he had finished. How long would he be allowed to stay? His foot was nearly healed. It wouldn’t be so bad to serve Mormirion always.

Could he move him to keep him if he tried harder to please him? He stood up slowly and hobbled to the bathroom to relieve himself. He smiled when he crawled back under the blanket, he would give his Master a lovely awakening. He dove under the blanket and licked his Master’s cock, by now he knew exactly how his Master liked it best.

Mo was still half in a dream when he realised that it was Mablung who made him feel so good. He reached out and caressed the slave’s head. The slave intensified his efforts, he had been quick to learn these last days and knew exactly what he did, Mo came buried deep in his mouth.

“That was wonderful, slave”, he murmured still a bit sleepy and pulled him up to steal a long, lazy kiss that still tasted of himself. The slave smiled shyly and blushed lightly. Mo felt that something had changed. He felt no reluctance when he touched him. “You accept it now, yes?” Mo caressed his ear. “Yes, herdir.” The slave closed his eyes appreciatively. “That’s good.” He would have liked it so much to keep him, now even more than before, but the danger to lose him completely if he did, was too great. He was very aware of what a treasure he held in his arms.


	7. Chapter Six

_135 F.A._

“I’m disturbed about the backmost tunnel. Have you seen the cracks in the ceiling?” Mablung nodded pensively while he chewed on a dry crust. “I know, Finban. I saw it too, the supports don’t help much. Maybe Sharû can be persuaded to withdraw us from there.”

With problems that concerned the workflow directly it was better to approach the captain. Mormirion helped him sometimes with ill slaves or slipped him and thereby his work team an extra ration, but he shied away from everything that might draw Sauron’s attention, Mablung had realised this by now. Sometimes he almost had the feeling that his Master feared the other Maia – and who could blame him?

He stood up and swallowed the last bite. “I think, I’m going to pay the captain a visit. Maybe he appreciates my company.” Finban compressed his lips. “Don’t risk too much, Mablung. He likes you but if you go too far he might get the impression that he is too lenient with you. I don’t have to tell you what they do to defiant slaves.”

Mablung smiled crookedly. “I know, Finban, I’m not longer a child, but thank you for your concern.” He kissed his friend’s cheek. They had gone through so much in all these years that they understood each other blindly. “I know exactly how far I can go with Sharû.”

“Mablung?”, he called after him and Mablung turned back. “How can you stand it? I mean...” “You mean, why I offer myself to him voluntarily?” He sighed deeply. “He has me anyway and this way we at least benefit from it. A pleasured, benevolent captain is much better than one who hates us.” He wouldn’t tell Finban how much pleasure he himself took from being with Sharû or Mormirion, that was his secret.

The guard in front of their cave scrutinised him when he walked out. “Where to? “The captain waits for me, herdir.” The orc nodded and didn’t ask further questions. He knew him, Sharû or Mormirion asked for him regularly. It wasn’t far to the captain’s room, he lived in the mines, like all watch-soldiers. His sullen look lighted up when he opened the door.

Before Mablung knew what was happening he had pulled him into the room, his hand buried in his hair, and kissed him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, the orcs fangs scraped his lips and Mablung tasted blood, he was in a savage mood today, whatever he had to say had to wait until he had taken his pleasure. Sharû pushed him on the bed. “On your knees, slave”, he growled.

 

“I don’t remember to have summoned you, elfling”, Sharû said later, sweat still glistened on their skin. Mablung shivered when the orc dragged a claw down his chest and only stopped just before  his arousal, he hadn’t yet allowed him to come. “What do you want?” Sharû ran his fingers through the hair at his nape, a touch that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“Why do you think that I want something, herdir?” Mablung squirmed desperate for more touch. “Because you only come to me of your own volition if you have a problem. What’s the matter, slave?” Mablung tried to bring order to his thoughts. This was more important than his pleasure, lives depended on him.

“The backend of the northern tunnel crumbles. The stone is soft and wet. I fear that it’s going to collapse soon. Please, herdir, order the work to stop there. I know that we aren’t worth much but it can’t be what you want to lose so much workers.”

Sharû shook his head. “I understand your fear but I can’t stop the work there, the northern tunnel is one of our best ore reserves. Even if I did it the general or his adjutant would revert the order and what do you think would they do to me after? I help you gladly, elfling, but not if it costs my life. Why don’t you talk to Mormirion? I know that he is fond of you.”

Mablung averted his eyes. “I can’t ask him for something like this, herdir. At least allow us to set up a watch so changes will be noticed sooner. Please, herdir, I fear for my people”, Mablung begged with pleading voice, he hoped he could soften the orc. He wasn’t a cruel man, he didn’t jeopardize lives needlessly.

“I agree with you”, Sharû answered after a moment of strained silence, “but you have to fulfil your watch's workload and if you don’t...” “I will take the punishment”, continued Mablung. He was relieved that he had achieved this at least. He couldn’t have hoped for more. “That's your decision. Is your problem solved now?” Mablung nodded. “Yes, herdir.”

“Good”, the captain murmured and kissed him, more gently this time. “I’m not finished with you today.” On Sharû’s touch Mablung turned around and spread his legs wide. He shivered when the orc caressed his sides with his big, calloused hands. There had been a time when he had been disgusted by himself because he let himself be humiliated, because he didn’t fight, but by now, after all these years – he didn’t know how long he had been here, but he knew it was long – he was at peace.

It didn’t make sense to fight, he had seen that too often, and because he obeyed, his Masters were quite friendly with him. Sharû liked him... He moaned softly and stopped thinking when the orc entered him and wrapped his warm hand around his arousal.

 

Mablung had nearly fallen asleep when Sharû spoke. “Why are you not disgusted by me, elfling?” “Herdir?” Mablung was too exhausted to understand the question. “I don’t understand what you want to know.”

Sharû caressed his cheek. “I said before that you only come to me when you have problems, but alone that you come to me without needing an order is amazing enough. You are different from the other slaves, you don’t only lie here, you get involved with me. You are so beautiful... repulsively beautiful some of us might say but I don’t feel that way. Don’t you think me ugly?”

“No, herdir.” Mablung looked at the orc’s facial features. He really didn’t know if he was able to have this conversation now, he was so tired. “You aren’t ugly, just... different. You know, I...” He stopped, Sharû wouldn’t take kindly what he had started to say, no matter how friendly he was.

“Speak!” Sharû was frowning, an unmistakable sign that he wouldn’t tolerate talking back. “Well, when I am with an orc I try to see the elf he might have been. I don’t need much imagination with you.” To his surprise Sharû didn’t get angry, instead Mablung saw tears in his eyes. The orc pressed a long kiss to his forehead. Mablung struck the thought that maybe he had scratched at the truth. Word was that Sharû was much older than any orc down here. Could he be one of the first orcs?

“No”, said Sharû with a melancholy smile, “but my parents were. Your thoughts are written in your face, elfling.” He sighed. “My father didn’t talk about his past, I don’t know if he couldn’t remember or if he didn’t want to. My mother... her father was one of the first but her mother was an elf.

When I was young she sang elfish lullabies to me that she had heard from her mother. When I was assigned to the guards down here, she told me not to forget where I come from. ‘Don’t be cruel to them, they are your family to. Your grandmother was a slave und you are free only because in me my father’s legacy was stronger than hers.’ Maybe I shouldn’t have told you all this, but... she was right.”

Mablung remained silent, he didn’t want to interrupt him, but what he had heard turned everything he thought to know about orcs upside down. He didn’t want to imagine what Sharû’s father and his fellow sufferers had gone through.

“The young ones, they don’t understand it, they are brought up to hate you, but I... I think, I like to have you here so much because you don’t make me feel abhorrent. You let me dream. When you are with me, I can see what... could have been.” Mablung kissed the orc gently. “I can see it too”, he whispered. “And you can be sure that I’m going to keep to myself what you just told me.”

“I should hope so, slave”, Sharû answered sharply but then he shook his head. “No, I don’t want it to end that way. Thank you for being so... special.” He hesitated. “What’s your name anyway?” “Mablung.” Mablung smiled through the tears in his eyes. “My name is Mablung.” “Would you sing for me, Mablung?” Mablung nodded and licked his lips, he closed his eyes and sang a song of Valinor in the Light of the Trees.

 

Mablung was in the process of laying open a vein of ore that promised good yield when he heard a shout. He saw from the corner of his eye how the others, like him, looked up and stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t anything to be seen in their part of the tunnel but when the elf, that had taken the watch today, came running at them with a few others, his face was frightened.

“Run!”, he shouted at them. “It’s coming down.” Mablung shook of his dread, they had to get out of here. “Come on!” Who could know how far the cave-in would reach? He thought he heard the crack of stone from farther back and started to run, pulling the guard alongside who had stood beside him without thinking about it. A dust cloud enveloped them, Mablung narrowed his eyes and coughed, chips of stone flew all around them, one struck his cheek and left a bloody scratch. Mablung didn’t feel the pain, he just kept going.

When the dust cleared he stopped and looked around, counting the elves around him. Many of them had injuries from the flying stone but no one who had made it here, to a place where a few tunnels met, seemed hurt badly. Mablung looked back in the direction of the cave in and swallowed hard, it was disturbingly near. How many elves were buried under these tonnes of stone? And how many were trapped behind it?

If they hadn’t set a watch, no one of them would have made it. He still had his pickaxe in hand, as he realized now. Mablung lifted his chin defiantly. He was going to search for the buried, and if it was the last thing he did. Sharû wasn’t going to like it but that didn’t matter, he would take the punishment if it meant saving lives. His brethren looked at him expectantly, they all were coated with grey dust.

“What do we do?”, asked Finban, his voice hoarse. When did that happen? Mablung looked around dazed. When had they decided to make him their leader? He opened his mouth to say something when a heavy hand was put on his shoulder. “Thank you, you saved my life.”

Mablung looked up and met the guard’s yellow predator eyes. He nodded embarrassed, not knowing what to say – if he should say anything at all – he hadn’t thought when he had pulled him with him. The orc turned around and left, to report Sharû about the incident, probably.

“What do we do now?”, Finban asked again. “Excavate our friends”, Mablung answered determined and lifted his voice. “We won’t be able to fulfil our workload if we remove the rubble but our friends are trapped behind it, they need our help and I at least am resolved to help them. I won’t judge you if you decide to keep working, I understand if you fear punishment.”

“Of course we help”, growled Damros, one of the younger elves. “It’s a matter of honour, we have to stick together. And they can’t punish us all.” Mablung didn’t comment this statement, he wouldn’t bet on it. Sauron was here, if he heard of this, heads would roll.

“Let’s not lose time. Finban, take a few people and fetch support beams. If we just start to dig, it will slide down again. Damros, we need carts for the rubble.” The boy was a little cheeky but he had a silver-tongue, he would persuade the guards at the carts. “You’ll come up with something.”

 

Melkor only listened with half an ear to Artano’s explanations. He wasn’t here to examine his work, he needed a new slave and thought to search here. Mine-slaves were tough and he needed something that could take quite a bit. He let his gaze wander over the working elves and searched for something he liked. Suddenly they heard a loud crash, the earth shook, commotion erupted further ahead.

Artano stopped mid-sentence. “What’s going on there?”, he snapped at an orc that just came past. “The ceiling caved in, Master.” “Does the captain know of this?” “No, Master, I’m on my way to tell him.” “Hurry up!” Artano followed him with an angry glare. Melkor smirked, as if the orc was responsible for the accident.

They walked on to the collapse site until they could follow the slaves’ conversation. Melkors gaze lingered on the elf in their midst, he liked what he saw under the layer of dust covering it. He had found his new slave. Meanwhile the captain had turned up, the orc had a concerned look on his face.

“See to it that they work”, Artano snapped at the orc. “No, wait.” Melkor lifted his hand when the captain took a breath to shout an order. “I have to take care of something first”, he told Artano at his wondering look. His slave knocked gently at the rubble with its pickaxe and looked as if it knew what it was doing. Melkor concentrated on the elf’s music and smiled when his slave stiffened when he breached its mind.

‘Come over, slave.’ He waited impatiently while the slave turned its head slowly and stared horrified at him. ‘Do you want me to come for you’, he growled. The slave shook its head and laid down its pickaxe. Another slave asked it something but when it saw who had come he silenced.

His slave kept its head down when it came over and pressed its forehead to the ground when it knelt. “This?” Melkor heard Artano’s disgust. “Why not, it has a pretty face and it looks tough.” “It’s dirty... and did you notice the smell? Why of all slaves in Angband do you choose a mine-slave?”

Melkor looked the trembling slave over, it really wasn’t very clean. Its sweat-stained hair, though cropped short, was matted and stiff with dirt. The greyish rag around its hips might have been trousers at some time. “Dirt can be washed away”, he answered scowling. He was surprised that Artano would want to talk him out of his decision. Unless... “Do you want it for yourself?”, he asked amused.

He knew he had hit the mark when Artano put on an indifferent face and said nothing. “Well, I was faster. Take another one for your games. Maybe I will lend it to you if you please me. Follow me, slave”, he snarled at the kneeling elf which hurried to obey. For a second it lifted its head and Melkor looked into beautiful grey eyes. He paused and shivered, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, but then the slave lowered its head again and the moment was gone.

Melkor walked with fast steps to the exit. The light pad of naked feet told him that the slave followed his order. Melkor was pleased, he had given it the chance and the slave had taken it. Still, he would remain alert, he didn’t expect this behaviour to persist.

 

Mablung was nauseous with fear, he wished desperately to be invisible but it was too late for that now. He walked behind Morgoth and had to ask himself if he would survive to see the next day. How they had talked about him! As if he weren’t there, as if he was... nothing. It. ‘That’s what I am for him: Nothing. An object. I don’t matter to him.’

His hands trembled. Why was he so frightened? It wasn’t his first time and he hadn’t only been around orcs. Mormirion had trained him to be a slave that could please Maiar. Surely Morgoth was going to like that. How much worse could it be? ‘Much worse.’ Mablung swallowed hard. In the mines they didn’t hear much of what was going on on the surface but the accounts of Morgoth’s cruelty had made it down.

He sobbed quietly. He didn’t want to die – he didn’t want to suffer so much. When Morgoth opened a door, Mablung stopped. His palms were sweaty. “Come in.” When he didn’t react at first, Morgoth gripped his neck and pushed him in. “You better obey me, slave”, he growled. “There is the bathroom, go and wash. Bring the oil from the bottom-right drawer. And hurry!”

Mablung ducked instinctively and hurried to be out of his sight. He trembled with fear. ‘I can do it’, he told himself. ‘I only have to obey.’ He knew what he had to do. It wouldn’t be so bad if he obeyed.

The water was icy cold. Shivering he looked for a towel but there wasn’t one. What had he expected? He sighed and walked to the cabinet where he would find the oil. His stomach clenched at the thought for what he would need it. Mablung kneeled to open the drawer and squeaked when a hand touched his backside. He shrank back, his heart hammering. He realized that he had made a big mistake, he should have kept still.

“Come here!”, Morgoth’s voice sounded like a whip crack. Mablung looked slowly up to him and shook his head. His fear turned to rage. No, he shouldn’t have kept still! This man was the cause for his people falling from grace. It was his fault that they had left Aman. Because of him they suffered so much. He would never obey him freely. It was one thing to submit to the orcs or even Mormirion but to allow the Enemy himself to have the power over him without a fight was something different. He was Noldo, he had his pride.

Morgoth’s eyes narrowed with anger. “Come here, slave. I won’t say it a third time.” Mablung stayed where he was. The fear was gone, only hate remained. Morgoth seized him by the hair and dragged him out. Mablung gritted his teeth. Not a sound. He wouldn’t give him this satisfaction. He was hauled through Morgoth’s sleeping room into a room that looked like a dungeon, and shoved to his knees before a pillory.

Mablung fought with all he got when Morgoth pushed his neck down. A hart slap struck his face, dazing him for a moment. When he recovered himself, Morgoth had already closed the pillory. He lifted his chin and forced him to look into his eyes. They were like fire, Mablung moaned at the pain that spread behind his temples. “You will learn to obey me, slave”, Morgoth said coldly and walked out of his focus.

 

Melkor took his time choosing from his whips, he could feel the slave’s hatred and savoured it changing slowly to fear. He would knock the fight out of it. The slave would soon fear him. He lined up diagonally behind the slave and played with the knotted straps of the whip. He smiled viciously, the elf would wish it had obeyed soon enough. It would know its place after he was finished with it.

He had brought Maedhros to his knees, he could handle this little slave easily. Not that its current situation would have changed much if it had obeyed. He would take great pleasure in torturing something so beautiful. The slave’s skin was pale, it hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. Melkor shuddered with pleasure when the first stroke left red marks on its buttocks.

 

Mablung’s breath roared in his ears. His heart beat wildly. Fear had gained the upper hand again. What had he thought when he disobeyed? To never disobey the masters was the first thing he had learned. This was Morgoth! Had he lost his mind? But it was Morgoth and he hadn’t been able to submit to him. He was the murderer of his king and the cause for his life breaking to pieces.

He screamed when the straps bit his skin. The pain brought tears to his eyes. He remembered when Mormirion had told him: ‘Accept it. This is your life now, don’t make it harder for yourself.’ Mablung closed his eyes. Mormirion had been merciful, back then when he had been so foolish to think he would forget him if he didn’t turn up. Morgoth wouldn’t be. Mablung gritted his teeth defiantly, he wasn’t as he had been then, he could bear pain better now. He would endure this silently. Morgoth wouldn’t receive pleasure from punishing him.

 

Mablung knelt on the floor, his legs didn’t carry him any longer. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able take this. His resolve not to scream had vanished a long time ago. He had never been beaten like this, the pain nearly drove him mad. Every blow ripped through his skin, blood ran down his back and legs.

“Please, Master, please stop! I’ll do everything you ask of me.” Mablung’s voice was hoarse from screaming, he nearly didn’t recognise it. He didn’t really believe that his pleading would help anything, Morgoth was without mercy, but in his despair he clutched at every straw. To his surprise the strokes ceased.

Morgoth walked around him and pulled his head back by his hair. “You won’t defy me again, slave?” “No, herdir, never.” Mablung swallowed hard. The pain was terrible, he trembled with exhaustion. Morgoth smiled cruelly. “I don’t believe you, slave. I’m going to make sure that you won’t ever forget this night. It is my decision when it is enough, not yours. My mercy is not easily gained.” Morgoth let go of his hair.

“No, herdir! No, please”, Mablung pleaded in panic. Morgoth had to see that he was spent. He couldn’t go on! “Keep your mouth shut, slave!” Mablung screamed when Morgoth continued unmoved where he had left off. Did he want to kill him? Would he beat him until he died? Mablung sobbed. Had he suffered enough for Mandos to forgive him?

 

“I’m going to take you now.” Mablung gathered the meaning of the words only slowly, he was near to passing out. He closed his eyes tiredly and tried to relax his cramped muscles. He moaned hoarsely when Morgoth entered him roughly. Just why had he defied him? It didn’t matter what Morgoth had done, he was at his mercy. Nothing stopped him from using him as he pleased.

He had forgotten that it didn’t do any good to fight – it brought only more pain. He would never do it again, ever. If he survived this he would not resist Morgoth. Mablung was drenched in cold sweat, his head thudded. A new pain flared up when Morgoth thrust into him.

He was suddenly hyperaware of everything. His gasping breath, the burning of the welts, Morgoth’s thrusts into him, the rubbing of the pillory at his arms and neck at every movement. He realised hazily that he was about to lose consciousness and embraced the darkness, glad to flee from the pain at least for a short time.


	8. Chapter Seven

Mo lifted his torch and looked around the slaves’ sleeping room, it took him only a moment to see that Mablung wasn’t here. “Where’s Mablung?”, he asked into the room. “You should ask your king, he took him.” The elf looked angrily hat him. “Melkor has taken him?” Mo stared at the slave, he felt cold. “Yes.”

Mo turned around and left the mines. Damn it! He kicked a stone against the next wall. He hadn’t taken the trouble to train him only so Melkor could take him away. And he pitied the slave, maybe what he had taught him would help him, at least. Melkor wasn’t known for his patience. Mo would miss the slave, he had been doing well since he came here, he hoped Melkor would appreciate him.

He didn’t hope to be thanked for the slave’s training. He slumped into his armchair and drank a big swig of wine directly from the bottle. He started when someone knocked at the door. He stood up with a sigh and opened the door to Artano, he was the last he wanted to see right now. “Come in, herdir”, he murmured and bowed deeply.

He hated to have to act so submissive, they were supposed to be equals, but he knew from experience that Artano saw that differently. “Did you notice that a part of the northern tunnel caved in?” Artano’s voice was without emotion, dangerously calm. Mo stared at him. “What?” “Weren’t you there today? You couldn’t have overlooked it.”

Artano sat down without being asked. Mo shook his head. He had been so preoccupied with the loss of Mablung that he hadn’t noticed the slaves’ unrest. Now that Artano called him on it... He hoped, Artano would go away, he wasn’t in the mood today. Why couldn’t he just take a slave and let him be?

Artano watched him with a predator’s gaze. “Take off your uniform”, he ordered. “I like you better without clothes.” Mo obeyed without comment. If he opposed him his career would come to an abrupt end – and his life likely too. Melkor would believe Artano whatever he told him about him and he couldn’t go back to Aule – he didn’t want to. He was happy with Melkor’s rule. He just had realised too late how Artano truly was.

He shed his clothes and came to sit on Artano’s lap. He wanted to be done with it, normally he didn’t stay long after he had had his pleasure. “How can I be of service, herdir”, he asked and stroked Artano’s chest. Artano smiled and grabbed him between the legs.

 

Later that night Mo lay heavy-limbed in his bed and slowly dozed off. He pulled the blanket down a bit so it didn’t lie on his sore shoulders. No blood this night, Artano had used his belt. He could have even liked it if Artano didn’t always insist on treating him like a slave. Pain aroused him, but the utter submission Artano demanded of him disgusted him. He was not a slave!

He was a Maia like Artano, maybe not as powerful but still... he shouldn’t look down at him like he did. In the past he had believed Artano respected him but that had been when he tried to pull him to Melkor’s side. He had told him how just Melkor was to his servants. Mo sighed, he was sure that Melkor wouldn’t approve of Artano’s treatment of him but he couldn’t tell him, he wasn’t so familiar with him. He had been Artano’s appendage from the beginning and it would be like this forever.

 

~*~*~

 

_“Mormirion, I want you to help me.” Mo looked up startled, in front of him stood Grandmaster Artano. “How can I be of service, Grandmaster?”, he asked shyly and bowed low. Artano was much stronger than him and his skill exceeded his by far. He was said to be proud and temperamental, still it was an honour to be chosen to help him with a project. Mo would have bet his flutes on Artano not even knowing who he was. It seemed he had been wrong._

_“This is a design for a belt for Vana. Our Lady has commissioned me to make it.” Artano laid a papyrus on the worktable before him. “I want you to assist me. You have talent, Aule should support you more.” “This is beautiful.” The design was perfect. Mo could imagine exactly how the finished piece would look, all these little flowers of gold and silver set with jewels. “It is my honour to help you with it, Grandmaster.”_

_Artano studied Mormirion closely. He had set his eye on him a long time ago but he had had other things to do until now – betray his Master for example. Aule didn’t deserve his loyalty. He wasn’t even sure that Aule wanted him, but he knew that Melkor wanted him, a bright future waited for him at his side. Osse would accompany him when he went and it would be soon. Time was running out if he wanted to take Mormirion with him. It would be easier for him to win him over if he succeeded in putting him at odds with Aule._

_They sat together in Artano’s room, he had invited him to drink with him. “What do you think of our Master, Mo?” Mo looked at him warily. “I can’t say anything bad about him.” “Don’t you think he favours some persons too much?” “Why do you care? You are Grandmaster.”_

_“I don’t think it’s fair that someone with your skills isn’t supported more. Just because your talent isn’t as striking as other's doesn’t mean you can’t be as good or better than them. I think it all the more important to encourage you.” “Do you really think I’m this good?” Mo couldn’t believe him. Aule surely knew what he did. “You are here, aren’t you?” Artano smiled at him. “I don’t bother with someone incompetent.”_

_“We’ll see each other tomorrow.” Artano brought Mo to the door. He was very pleased with himself. This evening he had sown the seed of doubt in Mormirion. It wouldn’t take long until he became discontented and then Artano would be there to confirm his belief. He would show him that he could get away, to a better life. Of course he wouldn’t tell him that he only wanted him as his servant. Mormirion had averted his careful advances until now, that astonished him. He was used to charm his chosen lovers easily._

_Tinwelóte... Mo sighed quietly. He knelt hidden behind a big rosebush in Yavanna’s garden and watched Tinwelóte as she danced in the Light of the Trees. Soon the time would be up, Laurelin’s Light already faded, and she would go back to work. Since he knew that she danced always at this time he came each day to watch. He didn’t dare to approach her. He was only a little smith, she was one of Yavanna’s confidants, she wouldn’t even deign to look at him._

_And yet he had to say so much to her. He wanted to sing for her, wanted to play for her. Sometimes he sat in the Light of Telperion in this place and played the melodies on his flute that came to his mind when he looked at her. The dance was over. He rose slowly and wanted to sneak back to the house. “Come out my secret watcher, I want to know who you are.”_

_Mo froze, he had thought it impossible for her to see him but she looked directly at him. “Come out”, she repeated. Mo stood up and walked haltingly out of the bushes, he didn’t dare to look her in the eye. “Forgive me, herinya, but I like to watch your dance”, he mumbled. “Come closer.” He heard a smile in her words. “What’s your name?” “My name is Mormirion, herinya, but everyone calls me Mo.”_

_He looked happily at her. Could it really be that she gave him a chance? He shrank back from the look in her eyes. Where he had thought to hear a smile was deep aversion. “Go away!”, she snapped at him. “I don’t understand...” He tried to swallow his tears. “There is blood on your hands. You won’t engulf me in the abyss. I don’t want to see your here ever again.”_

_Mo slinked away like a beaten dog, he should have known that she didn’t want him. What had she meant with her words? He hadn’t killed anyone. Maybe she had just said it to get rid of him._

_Artano knocked at Mormirion’s door. They had had an appointment, it was unlike him to be late. He heard soft flute-playing that stopped suddenly when he knocked. “Come in.” Mormirion’s voice sounded strange. Artano stared at him. “You are crying!” Mormirion looked away ashamed and rubbed his sleeve over his eyes. “She doesn’t want me. I’m not good enough for her.”_

_“Who?” Artano sat down next to him and looked concerned while he laughed inwardly. That was almost too easy! “Tinwelóte. She says I have blood on my hands but I think she just wanted to get rid of me.” That explained why he had rejected his advances, he was in love. This was perfect! Artano patted Mormirion’s arm. “She is foolish. She only sees your current rank. But you could be so much more. I know someone who would appreciate you more.”_

_“Do you talk of yourself?” Mormirion’s laugh was bitter. “Well, you will have noticed that I am after you, but I didn’t mean myself.” Artano pondered his next words carefully. “He needs people like you. I will go to him soon and I would be glad if you came with me.” Mormirion turned his head curiously. “Who is he?” “He is a great one, a mighty one, the leadership is his by right. His name is Melkor.”_

_Mormirion looked shocked. “He is a traitor!” “Because he goes his own way? Because he doesn’t want to bow? He is incredible. He knows exactly what he wants. Everyone who wants to serve him gets a chance to prove himself. He has offered me a place at his side. Come with me and it won’t be to your disadvantage. He won’t ignore you.” Mormirion’s face turned thoughtful. “Maybe...” He stopped when someone knocked._

_Mo rushed to open the door for Aule. “Come in, herdir.” He bowed low. Artano had stood up likewise. “Are you looking for me, herdir?” “No, I have to talk to Mormirion.” Aule darted a stern glance at him. “But as you are here... come with me for a moment. I want to ask you something.” Mo looked after Aule and Artano and wondered what had just happened. Why had Aule seemed so angry with him?_

_“You worked with him often lately, have you noticed something?” “In what respect, herdir?” Artano felt queasy, something was wrong. “Is he unhappy? Has he tried to set you against me? Tinwelóte has seen him kill elves. You know she sometimes has visions of the future.” “He doesn’t seem evil but I don’t really know him, of course.” Artano’s thoughts raced. Was Mormirion going to reveal him, when Aule asked? Probably. He had to go, fast. He hoped Osse was ready or he would have to leave him behind._

_“Do you intend to betray me, Mormirion?” Aule’s voice was without expression. “No, herdir!” How could he think that? “What gives you that idea?” ‘Would you care?’, he added silently. “Tinwelóte had a terrifying vision of you. Has someone tried to win you over to Melkor’s side? Perhaps not openly. Think about it, has someone tried to raise you against me?” Mo shook his head because he didn’t trust his voice. He thought of Artano’s offer. He had been undecided before, but now he knew that he would take it. Aule didn’t trust him, he didn’t deserve his loyalty._

_‘We have to go, Osse.’ Artano spoke over distance into the mind of his friend. ‘Why so suddenly? What have you done, Artano?’ Osse sounded irritated. ‘I have told you that I’m after Mormirion. I said too much at the wrong moment.’ ‘Wait a moment, I’m coming.’ Artano opened his eyes, a heartbeat later Osse stood before him, glaring at him._

_“What have you done?” “I thought I could persuade him but then Aule showed up. I think he’s going to tell him what I said. We don’t have time for the whole story, we have to go now.” Osse nodded. “All right, but you owe me a detailed explanation. Don’t forget it, I won’t.” “Of course.” Artano wrapped his hand around the badge with Aule’s crest and his rank that he wore around his neck and yanked at the chain. He let it fall to the floor, his old life in chains lay behind him._

_Melkor looked up from the reports of his scouts when he sensed the presence of two strangers. Well, they weren’t complete strangers. “We have visitors”, he told Sinthoras, who stood behind him and read over his shoulder, with an amused smile. “Clothe yourselves.” Artano and Osse obeyed without hesitation._

_“So you have decided to join me, Osse. I’m very pleased.” “Aule realised that I serve you in secret, herdir.” Artano knelt. “I had to go. Forgive me, I failed you.” “That’s a pity, but I would have called you to my side soon anyway.” Artano had spied on his siblings for him. “Sinthoras will show you your new home.” Artano felt that he was called and straightened surprised. Mormirion? Could this be a trap?_

_Mormirion stood in Artano’s rooms, he was confused because he couldn’t find him anywhere. His last option was to reach out with his mind and search for him. ‘Where are you, herdir?’ He felt like far away. ‘You wanted to take me with you.’ Artano took his time before he answered. ‘You want to come with me?’ He heard the surprise in Artano’s question._

_‘Did you think I would betray you to Aule?’, he asked a little offended. ‘I wasn’t sure and thought it prudent to prepare for the worst. Follow my voice and you will find me but I hope you know that there’s no turning back.’ ‘I know. I don’t want to be overlooked any longer, I want my service to be valued.’_

_Melkor didn’t like surprises and when the unknown Maia turned up beside Artano he snapped: “Who is this?” The Maia flinched, he didn’t dare to look at him. “His name is Mormirion, herdir”, Artano answered. “I tried to convince him that you are a better master than Aule when Aule found me out. I didn’t think he would want to follow me.” Melkor frowned. “Are you sure you can trust him?” He didn’t want someone here who might spy for his siblings. “Tell me if you have the slightest doubt.” Artano shook his head. “I don’t doubt him. I wouldn’t have told him about you, if I had doubts.”_

_“He doesn’t trust me.” Mormirion hung his head while he followed Sinthoras to the room that he would occupy for now. “Are you surprised? You were Aule’s servant just a few moments ago. Artano belonged to Melkor’s people in secret for a long time. But if it soothes you: I believe you that you are honest, you don’t sound like a liar. Melkor listens to me, he will lose his distrust concerning you. Strive to show him your loyalty.” Sinthoras smiled at him. “Your deeds will speak for you.” Mormirion smiled back. “Thank you for your kind words. I will be a good servant.”_

_The war had come and under Artano’s command he had fought against his former friends. It had been hard. He liked Melkor, had soon learned to admire him, but the fights had put his loyalty to a hard test. Then the Valar had levelled Utumno to the ground, Melkor and Sinthoras had been captured and Artano assumed command. It had taken time to establish order, Utumno was destroyed beyond repair and Angband badly damaged. They had worked side by side to ready everything for their Master’s return and when their work was done, Artano had taken what he couldn’t gain with words before._

_Mo sat at the fireplace and played his flute. He still played sometimes for Tinwelóte although he would never have her. Playing helped him come to rest. “Are you thinking of her again?” Artano sat down in the other armchair. “You won’t get her, accept that.” “Artano...” Mo wasn’t in the mood for his games. “I won’t come into your bed. Leave me in peace!”_

_Artano’s hand shot forward and grabbed his chin. “Do you really believe you have a choice anymore? You are my subordinate. Melkor and Sinthoras are gone, they can’t help you. I’m going to take what I want with or without your agreement. Comply and I will make it nice for you, too, fight and you won’t find it so pleasant.” Artano kissed him and Mo allowed it. Melkor had sometimes taken him to his bed but that had been an honour. This was different._

_“Take off your shirt, Mo”, Artano murmured against his lips. Mo obeyed and bent over to massage Artano’s crotch. Artano could easily force him, better to obey. “Mmh, this is better, you are quite tame after all. You only needed a little persuasion, yes?” Artano tousled his hair and pushed his head down. “I want to feel your mouth.” Mo opened Artano’s trousers and licked the head of his arousal._

_The armrest pressed into his belly, he tried to get a leg under him to shift his weight and took him in deeper. Artano still stroked his head. “Did Melkor beat you?”, he asked with unsteady voice. Mo shivered. Yes, Melkor had... He would have never thought how arousing pain could be. Alone the thought made his trousers feel tight. He let Artano’s arousal slip from his mouth. “Yes, he did.” “Fine...” Artano smiled pleased. “Kneel in front of the bed and lift your hair from your back”, he ordered. Only now Mo noticed the whip he wore on his belt._

~*~*~

 

This first time had been surprisingly pleasant considering that he hadn’t wanted it. He liked Artano’s rough handling he couldn’t deny it. Still, there had been something that had bothered him from the beginning and had stopped him from reacting to Artano’s advances. Now Artano showed his contempt for him openly. Mo believed that the reason he had wanted him to serve Melkor, was only because he desired him. He treated him like a slave and Mo hated him for it but he couldn’t oppose him. Artano would take vengeance and it was beyond question whom Melkor would believe if he schemed an intrigue against Mo. So he yielded.


	9. Chapter Eight

It was dark around him. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, how long he had been bound already. His shoulders were tense and hurt with every move. Mablung’s body consisted only of sore spots. He closed his eyes with a moan and hoped to fall asleep again. It seemed to him as if he had only just nodded off when a hand closed around his aching buttock and squeezed hard, Mablung gasped.

“Have you learned your lesson, slave?” Mablung’s heart raced frightened – Morgoth was back. “Yes, herdir”, he whimpered hoarsely. Morgoth walked around him and lifted his chin. “Prove it.” Mablung recoiled from his cold smile. Morgoth was going to let him suffer even more until his transgression was forgiven. He collapsed moaning on the floor when Morgoth untied him.

“On your knees, slave”, Morgoth barked at him and Mablung obeyed clumsily, his body didn’t want to move. “You will obey me unconditionally, you will only speak if asked and you will show me the respect due to me. Don’t dare to invoke the Valar in my presence. They can’t help you. I decide over your life from today on. Never forget this. Don’t ever forget again where your place is.”

Mablung bowed low, moaning softly and kissed his Master’s feet. No, he wouldn’t forget again. Morgoth smiled cruelly. “As I said: You have to prove to me that you understand. Do you see the closet there?” Mablung looked in the direction Morgoth indicated. “Yes, herdir.” “Open the second drawer and bring me one of the canes, your decision.”

Mablung’s knees felt weak when he stood up. He swayed when his sight became black for a moment and took a shivering breath. He mustn’t faint again! He felt queasy. He had thought that he knew how it was to be in pain, sometimes he had earned himself a few lashes in the mines and Mormirion had beaten him, of course, had driven his limits relentlessly. He had learned to bear it, to feel even pleasure.

And Mormirion had always known when to stop. He only now realised how perceptive, yes, how gentle Mormirion had treated him. What Morgoth had done to him had nothing in common with it, his back was an open wound, it had never been like that with Mormirion. Morgoth was still angry with him because he had defied him yesterday. His punishment wasn’t over.

Mablung didn’t know if he could bear such pain again but he wouldn’t make it better if he succumbed to fear. He squared his shoulders although the movement pulled at the lashes. Decisively he took a cane from the drawer and knelt again before Morgoth, offering it to him on upturned hands. Morgoth took the cane and moved behind him. “Offer yourself.” His voice was hard and used to giving orders, Mablung didn’t understand anymore why he had even tried to fight. He was a slave and this was his Master.

He bent forward until his forehead touched the floor, spread his legs and lifted his backside. He laced his hands behind his head. His heart raced and he was much too tense but he couldn’t force himself to relax, not today. His hearing was strangely intensified, he noticed every little movement of Morgoth’s behind him. His quiet breath, the rustling of his clothes when he moved, a hiss when he tested the cane.

Nothing happened for so long that he almost whished Morgoth would begin. Then he heard the hiss again and biting pain bloomed on his sore skin. He gasped and gritted his teeth. Tears came to his eyes as Morgoth set a slow rhythm. “Scream for me, slave. Don’t hold back”, his Master whispered with a voice rough with pleasure. “I want to hear your pain.”

Mablung sobbed and let go of his self-control. He screamed with every stroke, soon he lost all sense of time. How long did this go on? He didn’t know. He bled again. His buttocks and thighs felt hot and throbbed with his heartbeat. Mablung had closed his eyes, each of Morgoth’s strokes showed as a glowing white line on his closed lids. He trembled with exhaustion and pain, he couldn’t take it much longer, he felt like he would lose conscience again at any moment.

Then it stopped. Mablung breathed hard he couldn’t really believe that it was over – and it wasn’t. Morgoth pulled him upright by his hair and cupped his tearstained cheek nearly gently in his palm. With his free hand he opened his trousers and guided his arousal to Mablung’s lips. “Open your mouth, slave.” Mablung obeyed and held still as Morgoth thrust into his mouth. The hand in his hair gripped tighter.

Mablung only wished Morgoth would finish, he was so exhausted. Morgoth moaned softly when he came and Mablung swallowed obediently, he knew what was expected of him. He fell forward when Morgoth released him and barely braced himself on trembling arms, the world turned around him. Mablung closed his eyes, he felt queasy from the pain, if he didn’t take care he would vomit on his Master’s shoes and that surely wouldn’t sit well with Morgoth.

“Drink.” A cup was pressed to his lips and Mablung gratefully swallowed the cool water, only now did he realise how thirsty he was. “Thank you, herdir”, he rasped. A slap jerked his head around. “Didn’t I tell you to shut your mouth?”, Morgoth asked sharply. “You did, herdir.” Mablung swallowed hard. Again he had made a mistake, he had to be more careful.

“Why don’t you obey then? Haven’t you had enough?” Tears obscured Mablung’s sight. No! He couldn’t bear another beating. “Forgive me, herdir, please”, he begged. “I’m sorry!” “Enough! Follow me.” Mablung didn’t even try to stand up, he knew his legs wouldn’t bear him, so he crawled after his Master.

“That is your sleeping place.” Morgoth pointed to a thin mattress that lay in a corner of his bedroom. Mablung dragged himself over with bowed head. He was so exhausted he could have slept anywhere, although it was icy in here, and he hadn’t slept in a real bed in ages, the mattress was better than the stone floor in the mines.

 

When Melkor opened his eyes he didn’t know at first what had woken him but then he heard the chattering teeth of his slave. He growled, couldn’t the damned elf be cold in silence. He turned his back to the slave and pulled the blanket over his ears but he wasn’t able to sleep again. He couldn’t get the shivering slave out of his head.

Something moved inside him, something that he would have called pity if he would have admitted that he was capable of such a feeling. Quietly grumbling he stood up, it wasn’t like him to let his sleep be disturbed by a slave. Melkor knelt down by the fireplace, he only lighted it if he felt like it, he didn’t become cold, and kindled a fire.

From a chest he took a blanket and spread it over the slave. It blinked sleepily and mumbled something that could be interpreted as “Thank you, herdir.” Melkor caressed its reddened cheek where he had slapped it earlier – and pulled back as if burned. What was he doing? Angry about himself he shook his head. It was only a slave! And it had defied him at first, he wouldn’t forget that easily.

 

Mablung lay motionless on his mattress. A few days had gone by but his back still hurt. He hadn’t been able to move the first two days and had felt feverish. His lips were still chapped, his eyes burned. Morgoth ignored him. The slave who brought Morgoth’s meals and cleaned his rooms had washed his back with a damp cloth and fed him with the leavings off Morgoth’s table.

By now Mablung was able to stand up and walk to the table himself. He had noticed in the mines that he healed faster than his Sindar brothers. Maybe because he had grown up in Aman. Mablung wasn’t sure if Morgoth knew that he helped himself, that wasn’t something a slave should presume to do but he needed to eat to recover.

Mablung closed his eyes. The pain was nasty, but now, as he was able to think clearer again, the loneliness wore him out. He had never been alone these last years. In the mines he had had to work until he dropped but there had been friends around him. They had held together, that was the only way to survive.

Now he was alone, the other slave wasn’t able to help him more than he had already, he had to answer to his own master if he took too long. Mablung almost wished Morgoth would take notice of him even if that meant more pain. This complete disregard was worse than pain.

 

“Come to me, slave.” His Master sat at the table and ate his dinner. Mablung started, it was the first time that he said something to him after he had beaten him so severely. He rose slowly and walked to his Master. The lashes weren’t wholly healed, the movement pulled on them, but the awful, burning pain of the first days had subsided, he felt no longer weak when he was up.

Morgoth... no, he shouldn’t call him that even in his mind. If this name escaped him in his presence he would die a slow, painful death – and maybe he could even read his thoughts, he was a Vala. Melkor. His Master stroked his back. “You heal fast”, he noticed. “It pleases me. I will have much fun with you. Have you learned your lesson?” “Yes, herdir”, Mablung whispered.

Would he ask of him to prove it again? But Melkor only nodded slowly. “I expect you to wait for me when I come home from now on. You will kneel in front of the bed facing the door and wait until I give you an order.” Mablung didn’t answer, he hadn’t asked him a question. Melkor ate silently for a while.

“You are able to keep your mouth shut, good. I’d be loath to cut out your tongue, that would much diminish your worth for me. Are you hungry, slave?” “Yes, herdir.” Mablung wondered if it was a trap the moment the words left his mouth. He breathed relieved and opened his mouth when his Master lowered a fork. Melkor fed him and finally held a glass to his lips. “I know that you helped yourself from my breakfast.”

Mablung’s stomach tightened, he felt ill. So it was a trap. “Herdir, I...” He bit his tongue. “Silence!” Melkor’s voice was sharp. “I _will_ cut out your tongue if you aren’t able to hold it. Prevarications and excuses won’t help you anyway, I detest them. It’s all right that you have eaten but from today you will wake when I do and you will only eat from my hand unless I give you explicit permission to do otherwise.”

Mablung swallowed hard, it would be Melkor’s decision if he left him hungry or not. In the mines he could be certain, at least, that he would get his share if he fulfilled his workload. Mablung looked at Melkor’s hand that lay relaxed on his knee. His workload from now on was to please his Master. “Kneel on the bed, slave.”

The sheets were cool under his skin, Mablung laid his head on the pillow and lifted his backside, legs parted. He heard Melkor’s steps but didn’t look, looking would only earn him a punishment. A shiver ran down his spine at the clink of the belt buckle. “Two words, two slaps, slave”, his Master said. The leather smarted on his skin but it was only two slaps, that wasn’t bad. “You will thank me after I punish you, slave.”

Mablung closed his eyes. “Thank you, herdir”, he whispered. Another slap hit his backside. “I can’t hear you, slave!” “Thank you, herdir”, Mablung repeated louder, the humiliation cut his heart. Mormirion had never asked something like this. Melkor grumbled. “I’m satisfied for this time. Next time I want to hear for what you thank me.”

Two fingers entered him and Mablung relaxed his muscles. He was relieved, his Master wanted just sex. Melkor clicked his tongue displeased. “You will be ready for me tomorrow, slave.” Mablung needed a moment to understand what he meant. He was used to be taken without preparation, the orcs didn’t delay themselves with it, only Mormirion had done it. “Bring me the oil.”

Mablung hastened to follow the order. He was surprised that Melkor didn’t just take him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. He had only seen him angry until now – and it was his own fault. He handed the bottle to his Master and moved again into an offering position.

His Master prepared him quickly and penetrated him with one hard thrust. Mablung gasped. “I’ve waited for this for days, slave”, his Master whispered and licked his ear. “You won’t sleep much tonight.” Mablung matched his Master’s slow thrusts. He could feel that he held back but he didn’t do it for him he just wanted to enjoy it to the fullest.

 

~*~*~

 

“Get up!” Melkor pulled the slave roughly to its feet and gripped its neck to lead it beside him, it couldn’t get away. He had decided to keep it, he had found out that the elf submitted to him completely. It hadn’t shown the slightest hints of rebellion after their first night, but it wasn’t one of the broken, empty shells most slaves turned into eventually.

Melkor saw the Light of the Trees in its eyes when he forced it to look at him, that was good, it would help it to survive longer. Today he would brand it, his possession should be recognisable as his. He walked into the forge. Four sturdy orcs stood ready to restrain the slave. Melkor didn’t expect it to endure the procedure without struggling, regardless of its submissiveness.

Melkor let go of it to talk to the smith who had made the branding iron. The slave knelt immediately behind him. Another reason why he had decided to keep it, it was well-bred for a mine slave, someone had taken the trouble to train it. It knew how to take pain, it didn’t fight it, Melkor liked that. “Is the iron ready?” The Maia pulled it from the glowing embers and blew on it, the metal turning orange. “A moment, aranya”, he replied and pushed it back.

 

Mablungs heart raced, he felt cold although it was burning hot in the forge. His hands shook. Morgoth wanted to keep him, he would brand him. Until now he had had the hope that he would be sent back to the mines when he lost interest. He didn’t want to belong to him! He wanted to go back to Mormirion.

He had been a strict Master and sometimes he had cursed him, but he had talked to him! He hadn’t been only a possession for him, not only a thing that you used and put aside afterwards. Mormirion had always known when he needed a little gentleness to not lose himself. “Restrain him.”

He allowed the orcs to push him on his back and grip his limbs. His right leg was turned outward. “Look at me, slave”, Melkor ordered, he stood over him, a white-glowing iron in his hand. Mablung swallowed hard. “You belong to me, slave, and from today on everyone is going to be able to see it.” He told the orcs: “See to it that it doesn’t move.” He knelt beside him and pressed the iron to the inside of his thigh. Mablung screamed.

 

It stank nauseatingly of scorched flesh but the slave’s scream and the weak whimpers that followed compensated for the stench. His trousers had become uncomfortably tight. “Leave us”, he snapped at the smith and the orcs. When he was alone he knelt between its thighs and opened his trousers. The slave looked frightened at him, its pupils big, it trembled.

Melkor pressed his thumb to the fresh branding. “Has no one told you not to look at your Master without permission, slave?”, he asked sharply. The pained moan only fuelled his arousal. He entered it with a rough thrust. The slave screamed weakly and tensed, Melkor didn’t grant it respite.

“You should have gotten used to me by now, slave”, he growled into its ear and sealed its lips with a brutal kiss. He would have liked to grab its hair but they were too short for that, the matted locks had had to be shorn. They would grow back and then he could pull on them as much as he liked. Melkor bit its shoulder when he came and tasted its blood on his tongue.

 

Mablung cried with pain. Every thrust sent white agony up his spine. There was blood, he could feel it, but his Master was right, if he were a good slave he would have gotten used to him. He only got what he deserved. His sore back scraped against the uneven floor, the scabbed lashes opening again. His Master rubbed again over the fresh branding. It hurt so much!

He fainted when his Master climaxed and was brought back by pain. His Master had pushed his foot into his stomach. Mablung curled up moaning. “Stand up”, his Master snarled at him. “I won’t carry you home.” Home... if only it were. His burnt leg buckled when he slowly came to his feet. His Master walked fast and Mablung limped after him with gritted teeth.

His right leg didn’t want to carry him, his Master’s semen leaked down his thighs, he didn’t look down, he didn’t want to see the blood. Would it be always like this, now? He didn’t know how long he could take it. Mablung thought of Reviahûn, how often he had collapsed between Finban and him, almost unconscious with pain, after Sauron had called for him. And his death... Would he end like this?

Many elves died after they had been raped, even if they were uninjured in body, but it had never burdened him that much. Mablung didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to go to Mandos. He trembled when he remembered the eyes of the Teler he had killed, he would never forget. No, he would endure this, he wanted to life. This was not the end, Mandos would surely be.


	10. Chapter Nine

Mablung was sick with fear, he trembled. Melkor had shackled him to a metal frame in the throne-room that forced him to kneel on the floor with spread legs. He didn’t dare to look up, he knew how they looked at him. Melkor had invited his generals to use him. Mablung sobbed quietly and forced his tears back. If he started to cry he wouldn’t get through this.

His Master gripped his ear and pulled his head back. “This is my new slave. You can use it this evening as you please, I will watch and delight in it.” Mablung closed his eyes, he didn’t want to see. He wished himself far away. Why was this done to him? Wasn’t it enough that his Master beat him each night? He couldn’t figure him out.

It had been easy with Mormirion. If he obeyed he was safe. Melkor was different. Sometimes nearly gentle and in the next moment so brutal that Mablung thought he couldn’t endure it – and he couldn’t discern the cause for his mood swings. Was he doing something wrong? But why didn’t he tell him?

Someone grabbed his chin and kissed him, two fingers penetrated him roughly and stretched him. Mablung whimpered, he was so sore. Something struck his back and left a burning welt across his skin. The Maia who had been kissing him said: “Open your mouth, slave.” Mablung obeyed unresisting. Another lash kissed his back.

 

Sinthoras stood apart and watched the goings-on. It sickened him to see them like this. Uncurbed and without concern for the elf whose only mistake it had been to catch Melkor’s eye. He wasn’t surprised that Artano took pleasure in this, the name the elves had given him, Sauron, had some truth to it, but the others normally didn’t act like this.

“Don’t you like it?” Melkor stood right beside him. ‘I don’t like that you call him _it_ ’, he thought to himself but said: “I don’t like how this is happening. Sex belongs behind closed doors.” He always had refused to publicly have sex with Melkor and his Master had conceded. And although he had changed, Sinthoras could still be sure of his special place at Melkor’s side.

He had gone into captivity with him, he had saved him from Ungoliant, Melkor would never forget that. Sinthoras knew that he couldn’t ask him outright to put an end to this but maybe he could persuade him in another way. He pitied the elf. “He won’t withstand this much longer, herdir. Watch out that you don’t lose him so soon. After all, he seems to your liking.” Melkor listened to the slave's tune. “You are right, I’m going to stop it.”

 

Mablung had lost count of how often he had been taken. The Maiar’s come slickened his thighs and had left a bitter taste in his mouth. His back burned like fire, the welts didn’t bleed, yet. Suddenly there was music as if an orchestra had started playing. He lifted his head startled and was slapped across the face for it.

He didn’t need more than one look, there was no orchestra. What was happening? He was so occupied with thinking about this strange music that he didn’t realise at first that the Maiar had stopped touching him. One instrument, a piano, became louder. Was he going insane? He had heard of elves that lost their mind under torture.

Mablung slumped down when Melkor unshackled him, the piano was next to him now. Was that Melkor? Could he hear him? But that was impossible! He was no Ainu, he’d never heard of an elf who was able to hear the Music, not even Maglor. “Follow me.” Melkor turned away and Mablung hurried to follow. He was shaking so hard he nearly wasn’t able to stand but he wouldn’t risk to be alone with the generals.

 

“Wash yourself, you are dirty.” Mablung cringed, he heard Melkor’s contempt in his voice. Why wasn’t he able to do something right? He had only tried not to disgrace his Master and now he despised him for it. He limped to the bathroom, he was glad to be able to wash the semen of all that men from his body.

Lost in thought he wetted a cloth in a bowl, of course Melkor didn’t allow him to use the basin. Why did he suddenly hear the Music? If it was the Music and he wasn’t losing his mind. And what was it that he heard? Was it... the soul? The piano music came closer, it sounded... annoyed. Mablung turned around and fell to his knees before his Master, just as he asked: “Why are you taking so long?” The fast turn made Mablung’s head swim. He tried to answer but his vision became black.

Melkor stared at his unconscious slave when it fell over. He knelt beside it and felt for its heartbeat. He was glad to feel it beat steadyly. Melkor reached for the water bowl to empty it over the slave's head and wake it but decided against it. Gently he lifted it up and carried it to its mattress. It was enough for today. Privately he had disliked to see his generals touch it. He wanted to keep this elf for himself, he knew that now.

 

Mablung woke with a start. He looked around disoriented until his gaze fell on Melkor who sat by the fire and read something. “You fainted”, his Master said without looking at him. “How do you feel?” Mablung picked himself up and staggered to his Master, he was relieved to have to kneel, he wouldn’t be able to stay upright for long. “I’m fine, herdir. I’m ready for you.”

Melkor’s lips twitched. Was that a smile? Mablung didn’t dare to hope. “Lie down to sleep, slave.” Melkor caressed his lips with a finger. “You have done enough for today.” Mablung hesitated. He shouldn’t show weakness, his weakness shouldn’t be more important than his Master’s needs – and he was still confused by the piano music that resounded inside him the whole time.

He had the sense that it meant something but he couldn’t interpret it. He didn’t have much knowledge about music. “Don’t tempt me, slave. Go to bed”, Melkor repeated with more sternness. “I rarely show mercy, don’t squander it.” Mablung limped back to his bed, he was relieved that he hadn’t to bear more pain today.

 

~*~*~

 

_155 F.A._

Sinthoras sat on his horse and waited impatiently for the remainder of the troop he inspected today to deign to join them. The captain, who stood next to him, moved from one foot to the other anxiously. It cast a poor light on him, if his soldiers seemed undisciplined. Sinthoras was of course aware that discipline was an alien concept for most orcs.

He growled – he didn’t have time for this! – and rode to the barracks to rouse the stragglers. How did they dare to waste his time? He yanked the door open and stopped dead in his tracks when he took in the view before him. Four orcs pressed a young elf to the floor while a fifth took him. The slave fought fiercely and cried with despair. Sinthoras slammed the door shut, six faces stared at him.

“How dare you to whore around while I wait for you? You are on duty!”, he snapped at the orcs. “Get yourselves to the parade ground!” “But...”, one of the soldiers dared to protest. “Don’t talk back or I swear, I will have your skin whipped from your back! Out!” The torches on the wall flared up. The orcs hurried to get out of his sight.

Sinthoras rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at the slave who had used the opportunity to crawl into a corner. He squeezed tighter against the wall, as if he wanted to melt into it, when he saw his look. He seemed young. Was he even of age? Sinthoras shook his head. They had to grow up faster than it was common for their people, that’s the way things were.

He did like what he saw of the boy. And why not? His old slave had died only recently. It had been bad luck, the elf had stood in the way of an arrow. Sinthoras hadn’t been able to safe him. He had been a good slave, almost a friend, he had grieved for him, but he needed to find a new one. Why not this one?

“Come.” The elf stood up slowly. “You can stay and wait for them to come back.” The elf’s eyes went wide, he shook his head wildly. “I thought so.” Sinthoras left the barracks and walked back to the now complete troop. He registered satisfied that the five stragglers were yelled at by their captain. Sinthoras would leave their punishment to him, he had something much more interesting to do after he finished the inspection.

 

Technically he had a pile of paperwork on his desk, but that could wait until tomorrow. Today he only wanted to occupy himself with his new slave. The elf kept close to him, obviously he thought him to be the lesser evil. Sinthoras sat down in the living room and looked at the slave. It was clear that he didn’t really know what to do. Finally, much too late, he knelt. “We have a lot to do”, Sinthoras muttered to himself. The slave had never been trained.

“How old are you, slave?”, he asked. “Fifty-one... herdir”, the elf whispered. So he had been right, he was very young, only just of age. “Years of the Sun?” “Yes, herdir.” Of course. He sounded like a Sinda, they had always reckoned time by the movements of the stars and had adjusted fast to the new lights in the sky. Very young. “Do you have relatives in Angband?” “No, herdir.”

“No friends or acquaintances who are going to miss you if you don’t come back? I would allow you to write them a note.” The elf shook his head, tears fell on his knees. “I’m alone, herdir.” “Where did you work until now?” Sinthoras was taken aback, there _had_ to be someone who would worry about him. “I was the captain’s slave, herdir.” Sinthoras lifted his eyebrows. “If this is so, why do common soldiers dare to touch you?”

“He lent me freely, everyone could have me.” The slave started to sob. “He hoped to break my resistance this way.” Sinthoras let him cry. He didn’t call him to order, but he didn’t give comfort either. He wouldn’t show pity. He didn’t think much of treating slaves like scum. He liked to be gentle if they obeyed, he found no pleasure in the pain of others. But he knew that the elves saw him as an enemy, if he showed sympathy they would see it as a weakness, he couldn’t afford that.

A knock sounded at the door. Sinthoras stood up, annoyed about the interruption, and opened. The orc was almost as tall as him and had an impressive physique. “I suppose you are his former master?” Sinthoras was surprised that the orc was bold enough to come to him. “Yes. Come to me, you piece of shit”, he bellowed. Sinthoras heard the slave move nearer. He put his arm out to stop him.

“He belongs to me”, the orc growled. “You don’t have the right to keep him from me. Come to me, little whore, and maybe I’ll forget that you tried to make off.” “He is mine now. Go, and _I’ll_ forget that you tried to challenge me for my property.” The orc showed his teeth. “Have you fucked him? You know the law, if you haven’t had him, he is still mine.”

Sinthoras pressed his lips together. He didn’t like what he had to do now. He grabbed the slave and forced him against the nearest wall. To stop him from running, he pushed his hand between his shoulder blades, but the slave was so startled that he didn’t think of fighting back – not yet. He drew his sword with his free hand and levelled it at the orc. “You will accept, if I do it now.”

The orc laughed. “How do you want to do that? You can’t threaten me with a sword and hold him down at the same time. He is going to fight, believe me.” “Do you think, I only have a sword to threaten you? You forget with whom you speak!” Sinthoras smiled viciously and flames licked at the orcs clothes. He leaned the sword against the wall. The orc batted at the flames and moved back wide-eyed.

“You are going to accept”, Sinthoras stated calmly and opened his trousers. He stroked himself slowly while touching the slave’s soft skin, it didn’t take long until he was ready. The elf had recovered from his shock and started to squirm, but it was easy for Sinthoras to hold him down, he was much stronger than the slave.

He slicked himself with spittle, better than nothing, he had no oil at hand and he could let neither orc nor elf out of his sight. He wished he didn’t have to do this, but the orc had the law on his side. The slave screamed when he pushed in and tried to struggle, but he was no match for him. Sinthoras tried to move slowly but he knew that he hurt him anyway.

 

“That should be enough”, Sinthoras growled. The orc showed his teeth but he turned around and left. Sinthoras closed the door and sighed when he looked down at the slave. The elf lay crying on the floor, he was bleeding. Sinthoras lifted him up gently and carried him to his bed. “Not again, herdir, please”, the slave whimpered and tried to crawl away.

“Don’t move”, Sinthoras said gently. “I just want to tend to your wounds.” He fetched water and his chest where he kept his salves and washed away the blood from the elf’s body. He tried to be careful but the elf still gasped when he applied the salve. “It will soon be better”, he murmured, the salve would numb the pain. The elf was dirty, he had intended to bathe him before he touched him, but that could wait. The poor thing needed tenderness now.

Sinthoras wondered how long it was since someone had been tender with him, if he only had been with the orcs. He sat down next to the elf and caressed his head. “What’s your name?”, he asked. The elf’s eyes were cold when he looked up. “Why do you care? You won’t use it.” After he had heard the orc speak, Sinthoras was sure that “slave” had been the nicest thing he had been called.

Sinthoras could understand him, but his answer was unacceptable. Sinthoras was surprised that he still lived. Insubordinate slaves died fast. “I can of course make up a name for you, if you won’t tell me your true one. Maybe Tumbo or Telen or...” “Galathil, my name is Galathil”, the elf rushed to say. “Herdir, please...” Sinthoras nodded and bowed down to kiss his cheek. “That is a lovely name. Behave and I will use it. I don’t want to harm you. Obey and we will get on well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Tumbo - bottom (literally: deep valley)  
> Telen - rear


	11. Chapter Ten

“What is wrong, Sinthoras? You seem to be absent-minded. What bothers you?” Melkor stopped his general after the meeting when he wanted to slip away. “And don’t say _nothing_ , I know you too well for that.” Sinthoras looked embarrassed. “I’m fine. I just wish I could be with you more often. I miss you, herdir.” He looked up and shivered when Melkor’s eyes burned into his mind.

“I’m going to amuse myself with my slave. Would you like to join me?” Melkor saw that he had hoped for something different, but that wasn’t possible. He was his general, Melkor wouldn’t treat him like a slave. “With pleasure, herdir.” Sinthoras looked forward to have a submissive slave for a change, Galathil drove him to desperation. The Elf just wasn’t able to surrender to him.

He would have gotten rid of any other, but knew by now that his unruliness was born of pure fear and he wasn’t able to still it. It made him angry when he defied him. Sinthoras would have preferred to be alone with Melkor, but it was an honour that he invited him to use his slave. He was surprised, Melkor had only once given him to his generals, he had shared his other slaves much more freely. What was so special about him?

 

The slave knelt in the sleeping room when they entered Melkor’s rooms. Sinthoras looked around, he hadn’t been here for a long while. In a corner lay a thin mattress with a blanket, the slave probably slept there. The dinner stood ready. Although the table was only laid for one person, the meal looked as if it was enough for two. “Run to the kitchen and fetch a second plate, slave.” The slave obeyed immediately and Sinthoras wasn’t surprised by it. He wouldn’t have dared to talk back if Melkor would have addressed him like that.

He sat down opposite Melkor and waited for the slave to come back. “You offer me his meal, don’t you?”, he asked Melkor. His Master only shrugged. “It won’t hurt it to go hungry for a day, and it isn’t its meal, it’s mine, I only allow it to eat with me.” Sinthoras huffed but didn’t reply, he thought that the slave was too thin. It clinked softly when the slave set the table in front of him and filled their glasses, first Melkor’s then his. At last he knelt down beside Melkor. They didn’t heed him further and ate.

 

Sinthoras leaned back and took a swallow of the excellent wine. The dinner had been delicious. “I would like to examine him closer, if you allow, herdir.” Melkor nodded. “Go to Sinthoras. I expect you to obey his orders as if they were mine. Do you understand?”, he snarled. “Yes, herdir”, the elf whispered and stood up to come to Sinthoras.

He knelt with spread knees so Sinthoras had a good view. He looked vaguely familiar to Sinthoras but he didn’t remember where he had seen him. He hadn’t had him this close before. When Melkor had given him to his generals twenty years back, Sinthoras had stood aside. It had gotten out of control very fast and he had hated to have to be there, but not to attend would have meant to snub his Master.

Today was different. Melkor and he were alone and he could take all the time he wanted. He lifted the slaves chin with one hand and pushed a few strands of hair out of his face with the other. “Why do you allow him to wear his hair so long?”, he asked. Short hair was a sign of slavery, he wouldn’t have thought that Melkor took that so lightly. The slaves hair was nearly shoulder-length.

“It looks like a plucked chicken if you cut it shorter. I like its hair, so why should I cut it?” He was pretty. The brown locks framed a pale, slender face. Big grey eyes looked at a point over Sinthoras’ shoulder. He smiled, slaves weren’t supposed to look at their masters without permission but not all of them took it so seriously, but to look Melkor in the eye meant pain, even for a Maia, it had to be excruciating for an elf.

Sinthoras caressed his lower lip with his thumb and replaced it with his mouth. The slave moved towards him and opened his lips. Sinthoras kissed him gently but left no doubts who was in charge. The slave surrendered to him without reluctance and even sucked on the unfamiliar tongue in his mouth. It felt good, he almost had forgotten how it was not to have to fight for each kiss.

Sinthoras bowed down und touched him between the legs, the slave shrank back with an inarticulate noise and broke the kiss. Sinthoras was startled by the reaction, before he could respond, Melkor yanked the slave around and slapped his face. “How dare you!”, he hissed and slapped him again. Sinthoras was confused, the slave had been so submissive, he should be accustomed to be touched...

And then he remembered. He had touched him with his left hand, the hand that had lost all warmth in his fight with Ungoliant. When he was fire it looked like solidified lava but when he wore the form of an elf like now it was icy cold. Normally he wore a glove when he touched a slave, he knew how unpleasant it must feel, but there hadn’t been slaves at the meeting, he hadn’t needed it and after, he had just forgotten.

“Wait, herdir. I think this is my fault”, he said and crouched down. “It was because my hand is so cold, wasn’t it?”, he asked the trembling elf gently and caressed his cheek with his right hand. “Yes, herdir”, the slave whispered, tears ran down his cheeks. “It doesn’t change what it did.” Melkors face was hard, Sinthoras knew how much he hated insubordination.

His wrath was woken, Sinthoras couldn’t change that but maybe he could perform damage control. “Thirty lashes are going to remind you that you are expected to keep still when someone touches you, slave. Bring me a crop.” Sinthoras knew that he couldn’t ask Melkor for lenience when he was in this mood, it would only make him more angry.

He stood up and replied: “Of course he deserves punishment, herdir, but don’t you think thirty is a bit much if we want to use him after? He is of no use if he is unconscious.” Melkor weighed the crop in his hand. “You are probably right. Half of it will leave a lasting impression. Get ready, slave, and count the lashes.” Even fifteen lashes were too much if you asked Sinthoras, the slave had just been startled by the cold. How was he supposed to stop an instinctive reaction of his body?

 

Mablung was frightened. He hadn’t meant to shrink back, the cold had startled him, he would never have done this on purpose. But he knew his Master well enough not to beg for mercy, it would only make things worse. By now he could read his Master’s music most of the times. It didn’t change, that he was at his mercy but at least he could adjust to his mood. Melkor’s temper varied between extremes.

He could be downright gentle on some days and then it wasn’t so bad to belong to him, Mablung... liked this Melkor. Sometimes, usually when he woke at night, he could hear a deep sadness in his Master. But much more often smouldered suppressed anger in him and if this anger burst into flame he beat him bloody. He had been in a good mood today, when he came home and although Mablung had dreaded to serve two Masters, he had been hopeful that he could do it.

Now... and it was often like this. A wrong movement of his and Melkor’s anger burned him. It seemed that he couldn’t do anything right, but he would try. Maybe the gentle Melkor would surface more often if he tried hard enough. Mablung pressed his forehead to the floor, lifted his backside and waited for the first lash.

 

“One.”

Sinthoras winced when he saw how hard Melkor hit. He hadn’t intended this, he should have been more careful. He didn’t understand Melkor’s anger. Couldn’t he see that it hadn’t been the slaves fault?

“Two.”

Mablung closed his eyes. He could feel the general’s gaze on him, he could hear him, a violin, but he was so unfamiliar that he couldn’t interpret his feelings. Normally they were alone at least. He didn’t want him to watch. Had he recognised him? Mablung hadn’t forgotten who had healed his foot, but it had been a long time and he was only a slave.

“Three.”

He felt so worthless. Sometimes he wondered what Melkor saw in him. Did he use the punishments as an excuse to beat him? But why would he think that to be necessary? He was a slave, his Master didn’t need an excuse. Did he hate him? He was a Noldo, not of Feanor’s people, but still. He knew Fingolfin offered resistance.

“Four.”

Melkor smiled cruelly when he heard the tremble in the slave’s voice. The elf was drenched in sweat, he had beaten it yesterday, the new welts showed dark on its reddened skin. It succeeded in stifling a whimper, yet.

“Five.”

His slave wouldn’t forget this punishment soon, it wouldn’t dare again to resist one of his friends. How could it dare? He had thought, the slave had learned this lesson a long time ago. Maybe Sinthoras was right with his assumption. Still, it had embarrassed him, it deserved this.

“Six.”

Sinthoras felt pity for the slave, he saw clearly that this beating wasn’t the first he had received in the last few days. He started to admire the elf, he hadn’t even uttered a whimper until now. Sinthoras knew how it was to be beaten by Melkor and he didn’t think that he could have borne this without a sound.

“Seven.”

‘He doesn’t even have to tie him up to punish him.’ Sinthoras felt the realisation hit him like a slap. Melkor punished him for resisting them and didn’t see that the slave submitted to a hard punishment without resistance. This punishment wasn’t just. He came to a decision.

“Eight.”

Mablung gritted his teeth to stop a sob that stuck in his throat. He feared that he would cry out at the next lash and that meant it wouldn’t stop at Fifteen. His Master expected him to endure punishments without a sound. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

 

“That’s enough, herdir.” Melkor lowered the crop, he heard that Sinthoras wouldn’t tolerate it if he continued. He wondered what Sinthoras would do if he still continued, it was his slave after all, but shoved the thought aside, he wouldn’t risk their friendship for something like this. So he contented himself with whispering into the slave’s ear: “If Sinthoras weren’t here, it would have been more than Thirty, I hope you are aware of that.”

“Just leave it, herdir, I think he understands”, Sinthoras muttered. Melkor nodded and put the crop down. “How do you want it?” Sinthoras didn’t really feel like using him anymore but he knew that Melkor would blame the slave if he left, so he didn’t show his feelings. “I would like to use his mouth while you take him from behind.” He had thought of this before the evening had gone wrong and to voice it kindled his passion despite his pity. Melkor smiled at him. “A very good idea. You will come to understand that I had good cause to let it keep its tongue.”

 

Mablung trembled when he heard the words, his backside burned and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his corner and curl up but he owed the general something for saving him from a bad punishment. The general knelt down in front of him and cupped his face gently with his hands, one of them still icy cold. Mablung watched him opening his trousers and stroking himself. Mablung opened his mouth and held still when he pushed his growing arousal between his lips.

Melkor wasn’t so gentle, Mablung was driven forward when he entered him. “Slowly, herdir”, the general laughed a bit breathless. “Let me savour this.” Mablung would have gasped if he could, he expected Melkor’s next flash of anger but his Master only laughed. “As you like, my friend.” Mablung moaned when his Master rubbed the welts on his backside roughly. His thrusts were slower now, he and the general moved in the same rhythm and Mablung felt himself react to it.

It wasn’t unpleasant anymore, even the burning of the welts wasn’t. He was aroused now but that wasn’t important. Melkor didn’t care, even when he was in a good mood. Mablung concentrated on the general’s cock in his mouth, moved his tongue against the hot flesh, sucked gently and was rewarded with a deep moan. He was glad that he was able to satisfy their needs, he had spoiled their evening enough. Melkor’s thrusts became harder, a sign that he would come soon and the general too seemed to...

Mablung tensed when heat filled his mouth. “I know”, the general gasped, his fingers left hot tracks on his cheek when he caressed him. “I’m fire, endure it for a moment longer.” Mablung fought against is body’s wish to get away from the heat. It felt as if he stood a bit too close to a fire. To his surprise the general pulled back and wrapped his own hand around his arousal. His Master’s fingers pressed into his skin when he came, Mablung knew that the marks would show tomorrow.

The general held his wet fingers to his lips. Mablung would have sold his soul for a sip of water but as it was he had to make do with what he was offered. The general caressed his head while Mablung licked his hand clean. It was warmer than he was used to. Had he decided not to come in his mouth because he hadn’t wanted to burn him? He seemed to be nice, he had saved him from the bigger part of his punishment after all. “You can go to sleep, slave”, his Master said, he heard that he was still angry with him but the fire had become a glow again, it was over for today.

 

“You didn’t need to punish him, herdir. Haven’t you noticed that you don’t need to tie him up in order to do it?” Melkor huffed indignantly. “It wouldn’t dare to try to evade punishment, it made a mistake, it knew that. It deserved to be punished.” They spoke Valarin, now that the slave didn’t need to understand them. “You think so? Are you aware of what you ask of him? I couldn’t have borne it so long without screaming.”

Melkor silenced him with a kiss. “Do you want to stay tonight?” “I’d love to!” Melkor smiled to himself when Sinthoras’ face lit up, he had known that this would distract him. “This slave I have... It’s no fun to sleep in my own bed. He bit me yesterday.” He showed Melkor his wrist. “Then get rid of it!” If his slave had acted like this he would have sent it back to the mines or, better yet, given it to Artano.

“I can’t. He is scared out of his mind, that’s why he acts so unreasonable. He is a sweet boy, it hurts my soul to punish him. I want to try it for a while longer.” Sinthoras hesitated. “Say, what’s on your mind.” Melkor smiled at him. He had a soft spot for Sinthoras, he let him get away with much more than his other servants. “Well, I thought... your slave is so obedient – and I assure you, I don’t think of myself here – but do you think he could maybe bring my slave to reason?”

“You want me to lend it to you?” Melkor thought about it for a moment. He didn’t know how much the slave could do, but if Sinthoras thought so... He could be without it for a few days. “You can have it, for a week. I’ll send it to you the day after tomorrow.” “Thank you. But, Melkor, you know what I truly want.” Sinthoras kissed him slowly. “I want you”, he whispered. Melkor smiled bitterly. “I know, but I’m not in the right mood today. I would hurt you and I don’t want to. I know you don’t like it.”

“You wouldn’t...” “Sinthoras, you know me”, Melkor interrupted him. “I would hurt you. My anger hasn’t cooled down enough, I only would vent it on you. That wasn’t why I asked you to stay. Maybe another time. Come to bed.” Sinthoras complied downcast. Yes, he knew Melkor, if he had responded to his request, his offer, it would have been a hard night. He would have felt him tomorrow, but that didn’t bother him.

He had resigned himself to the fact that to ask Melkor to sleep with him, meant to invite him to beat him. He hated pain, but he loved Melkor too much to let himself be kept off by it. The idea with the pleasure slaves had been inconvenient for him, and he pitied the elves, they were too weak to live up to Melkor’s demands. He snuggled up against Melkor and closed his eyes. They didn’t sleep, not like elves anyway, but they rested and when they lay together like this, their melodies mingled. To share this with Melkor meant everything to him. Maybe, Sinthoras thought, in a way this was sex, too.

 

Mablung felt absolutely whacked when he woke. His Master was gone, he hadn’t woken him and left him no food. He would go hungry today, his Master hadn’t forgiven him yet. He wrapped his arms around his knees and curled up. His stomach growled, he had gotten used to two meals a day and he hadn’t eaten anything yesterday evening, too. Mablung closed his eyes, maybe he could sleep for a bit, it was still dark anyway – it was going to be a long day.

 

He was wide awake immediately when Melkor opened the door to the hallway, his hearing gauged to the sound. His Master wanted him ready for him when he entered the sleeping room, so he had to get up as soon as he heard the door. Mablung knelt on his place and laced his hands on his back. He hoped, his Master’s anger had subsided by now. His music didn’t sound like punishment and he didn’t heed him when he came in, maybe that was a good sing.

His Master ate unhurriedly, he didn’t call him to his side. Mablungs stomach rumbled. Was he going to let him go hungry again? It made him nervous. If his Master didn’t allow him to eat, it meant that he was still angry with him and that meant another hard night. Mablung winced when his Master stood up. “I’m going to bathe. Eat, when I come back I want to see you ready for me on my bed.” Mablung ate, glad to be able to still his hunger, then he knelt on Melkor’s bed and spread his buttocks with his hands. He was relieved, if his Master had wanted to punish him for yesterday, he would have ordered him to go to the dungeon.

 

Mablung lay on his side, soaked with sweat and his breath heavy, his nipples still aced, although his Master had taken off the clamps. His backside was sore. Melkor had examined him from top to bottom when he came back, his hair wet, and spanked him hard. Mablung didn’t know if it was another punishment for yesterday or if his Master just had felt like it. In any case it was better than the crop.

Mablung almost liked it when he was bent over his Master’s knees. He felt so close to him then. It was ironic, but Mablung felt then as if his Master was gentle to him, as if he wanted to show him that he liked him. It was only an illusion, of course, he was only a tool for his Master’s pleasure, but Mablung could endure it better if he thought like that. Mablung pushed himself up and got ready to leave his Master’s bed.

If he waited too long, his Master would only chide him. “Wait, slave, I have something to tell you.” His Master pulled him close. While he fondled Mablung’s sore nipples, he said: “I’m going to bring you to Sinthoras tomorrow morning, you will serve him for one week.” Mablung shivered, he hadn’t been away from his Master since he had claimed him. “Go to sleep now.” His Master released him and he walked to his corner.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Mablung had expected is Master to deliver him to Sinthoras personally, but he had only led him to the general’s door and left him there. Was that another test of his obedience? Did he want to see if Mablung ran back home? Mablung shook his head. He wouldn’t dream of it. Hopefully the general wouldn’t be too rough with him. Mablung had gotten used to Melkor’s tempers, the prospect of having to serve someone unfamiliar made him nervous.

“What can I do for you?” The elf who opened and looked at him curiously had sliver-blond hair and large green eyes. Mablung thought him to be a Nando or Sinda, he sounded like it, too. “My Master sends me to serve yours for a week.” “Come in. My... my Master will come out soon.” The elf closed the door trembling. “Please don’t provoke him, he gets so cruel when he is angry.”

Mablung saw the tears in the other’s eyes and embraced him. “I won’t make him angry. What’s your name?” “Galathil”, he sniffled. “I’m Mablung.”

“Wait in the sleeping room.” Galathil’s eyes were filled with fear when he freed himself from Mablung’s embrace and sneaked past his Master. To Mablung Sinthoras’ voice sounded gentle, although demanding obedience, his Master never addressed him like this. He liked the general, even though it was obvious that Galathil feared him. How he had treated him two days ago... that wasn’t the behaviour of a cruel person.

“Come”, the Maia said to him. Mablung followed him to the living room and knelt when he sat down. “You are quite early.” “My Master brought me here when he left. Forgive me if I woke you.” The general sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You haven’t woken me, I don’t sleep like an elf, but it is still early. Do you know why you are here, slave?” “My Master wants me to serve you, herdir.” “Well, that too, but not primarily. Melkor didn’t tell you?”

It seemed to Mablung that he heard disapproval in his voice. “My slave doesn’t obey me, even punishment doesn’t make him submit. I saw how obedient you are and hoped you could persuade him to follow my orders.” Mablung looked up with surprise and a shiver ran down his spine – the general’s eyes where completely black. Sinthoras noticed his look. “Don’t be frightened. I know it takes getting used to.”

Mablung nodded anxiously, he didn’t want to anger him. “I’m not angry.” Sinthoras rubbed Mablung’s neck. “I want you to speak when you have something to say. I need your help and I want to know what you think. Do you understand?” “Yes, herdir.” Mablung hesitated, he hadn’t anticipated this and he wondered how he could make him understand what Galathil went through. “But it frightens me, I’m not used to speak my mind.” “I know, please try.”

Mablung licked his lips nervously. “I’m afraid that what you ask of me has very little to do with persuasion. He fears you very much, herdir, I could see that even in the short time I spoke to him. You will have to still his fears or you will have to force him forever. He needs to trust you and you can’t force trust.” Sinthoras lifted his eyebrow. “Do you trust Melkor?”, he asked unbelieving.

“I...” Mablung licked his lips. He didn’t know what to say. “When I was new in Angband, I had a very understanding Master. He taught me to deal with all this. I trusted him, I knew he wouldn’t harm me. My Master is... he asks much of me but I think, as long as he enjoys my presence he won’t harm me. I only have to serve him good enough so he doesn’t stop wanting me.” Mablung smiled crookedly. “Sometimes he his gentle... it is nice then.”

Sinthoras was stunned. That wasn’t trust maybe but it wasn’t the panic-stricken fear, he saw in Galathil’s eyes, either. Did Melkor show this slave his gentler side? And was he aware of it? ‘You seem to be something special, elf. I wonder if Melkor knows it, too?’ Sinthoras smiled and didn’t let his thoughts show. “You are a strange elf... What’s your name?” Now it was Mablung’s turn to look stunned. Melkor hadn’t asked him his name and this Maia only knew him a night. He remembered his good manners and said: “Mablung, herdir.”

“Mablung.” Sinthoras caressed his cheek. “It isn’t easy to fulfil Melkor’s needs to his satisfaction, is it?” The question embarrassed Mablung, he wanted to avert his eyes but Sinthoras didn’t let him. “Yes, herdir.” He faltered. “I know, I shouldn’t say that, but...” Sinthoras silenced him with a finger to his lips. “I know. I know how cruel he can get, and he held back with me.” He pulled up his shirt and turned his back to Mablung so he could see the scars.

“Yes, I know him well. The difference is that I gave myself freely to him. I’m sorry for what happened a few days ago. It was my fault, I should have thought of it but normally I wear a glove. Does it still hurt?” Mablung shook his head. “It is worse, normally. You saved me, I’m thankful for it. I’m going to serve you as good as I can. I know that isn’t something special from a slave, you could force me anyway, but...”

Sinthoras lifted the slave on his lap, he looked so vulnerable, kneeling on the floor. “You don’t need to thank me. As I said, I know how cruel he can be and how hard he hits. He was different in the past but it is of no use to mourn what is gone. I admire you, Mablung, you are strong...” Sinthoras broke off when he caressed the elf’s back and felt scabbed wounds. “Lie on the couch.” The slave followed the order immediately. The welts on his back upset Sinthoras regardless of what he knew of Melkor. Some of them were still bloody and swollen, others nearly healed. It looked bad. It was a miracle that Mablung was on his feet.

He hadn’t looked closely two days before and it amazed him even more that the slave hadn’t screamed. “Someone has to tend to this. He hasn’t, am I right?” “He never does, herdir.” Mablung whimpered when Sinthoras spread a salve on the welts. “And still you don’t fear him?” “Not as much as Galathil fears you. Sometimes I’m frightened but most times I know what to expect. Maybe my fear dulled with time.”

Sinthoras heard that the elf gritted his teeth. “Stay on the couch until the salve has drawn in, I have to go. I would be happy if you could look after my slave. I’m clueless how to proceed with him, it didn’t start as I wished and now I don’t know how to change it. I get so angry when he fights me.” Sinthoras turned away, then he added: “And as to Melkor... yes, he can be gentle but he won’t change back to the one he was, you shouldn’t expect too much. I don’t want to destroy your hopes but it is how it is.”

 

Mablung opened the door slowly. Galathil sat on his bed, arms wrapped around his knees. “Go away!”, he sobbed. “I can’t do that, I don’t want to.” Mablung sighed and sat down next to him. “I know, but, believe me or not, you are lucky. He isn’t cruel. If you would only try to obey him he wouldn’t hurt you, I’m sure of it.” “How would you know? You don’t know him.” Galathil shook his head. “He beats me until I can’t struggle anymore.”

“Because you have to obey him. No, listen.” Mablung leaned his head against the wall. He didn’t want to have to say this, but it was the truth. “You are a slave, whether you like it or not and you can’t do anything about it. You can only make life easier for yourself. I stick to my opinion, Sinthoras is a good Master, but even a good Master demands obedience.” “It hurts so much.” Tears ran down Galathil’s cheeks. “Maybe it is true what you say, but even if I submit to his will, it won’t hurt less. I know that there are men who like it to be taken but I can’t understand that.”

Mablung embraced him and petted his head. It took him a moment to understand what he meant. “You have never been with someone whom you cared for? How old are you?”, he asked. Galathil shook his head. “Fifty-two. I was ten when they took me away.” Galathil clung to him like he was drowning. “My parents died fighting against the orcs, I hid myself in the closet but they found me anyway. I thought, I would die, but it was worse. I wish they had killed me then. The captain kept me, at first I only had to care for his armour but a few years ago...” Galathil sobbed. “He said I was old enough. It hurt so much, I couldn’t just let him do it.”

Mablung held the trembling elf until he calmed down. He understood him. He probably would have ended like this if not for Mo and Reviahûn. And he had been much older, he knew that the years had shortened since Anar and Isil sailed the sky. “It doesn’t always hurt”, he said finally and thought of Glorfindel. He hoped he was safe. “When your partner takes his time and you are relaxed. But maybe you can’t believe me.

I understand that you are frightened, many bad things happened to you. Your Master knows this, too, even though he punishes you. If he wouldn’t understand, I wouldn’t be here to help you. Do you think it would help you if you could watch your Master taking me? You could see for yourself that he doesn’t hurt me.” Galathil stared at him. “You would do that for me?” Mablung smiled at him. “Yes, of course, I want to help you. I will talk to your Master, may I tell him, that you are going to try to obey him?”

Galathil hesitated. “You really believe he would stop hurting me?” “Yes. He doesn’t take pleasure in watching others suffer.” “I don’t know if I can obey him. I’m so scared of him. Every time he opens the door I can’t think.” “I will try to help you, I will be nearby and won’t leave you alone with him. And I will ask him for clemency. I’m only here for a week, I know that isn’t enough.” “Very well.” Galathil took a deep breath. “I will try. Do you really belong to... _him_?”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Mablung winked at him. “Yes, Melkor is my Master.” Galathil shuddered. “It has to be awful. He is said to be cruel and... you are a Noldo, aren’t you?” “Yes, but that isn’t important anymore.” Mablung’s eyes burned. “I’m his slave and it is... bearable.” He mustn’t hate Melkor, it would be impossible to obey him if he did. And he mustn’t tell Galathil how bad it often was. He was hopeful that the general was different, Galathil needn’t worry about other masters.

 

Sinthoras ignored the door to his sleeping room deliberately when he came home at evening. He didn’t want to deal with Galathil, the day had been unpleasant enough. Mablung kneeled beside his chair, a glass of wine stood on the table. Sinthoras sat down and took a sip. “How do you know that I like to have a drink at evening?” He felt the tension bleed from his limbs. That was how he imagined this. “Galathil told me, herdir.” “Really? He kept that in mind?” Sinthoras couldn’t prevent his voice from becoming sharp.

“He is very frightened, herdir. Please don’t mock him, he is very young.” Mablung spoke haltingly, it was hard for him to talk to a master like that. “You hurt him very much, but I think you now that. Others have hurt him, too. Can’t you understand that he fears you?” Sinthoras sighed and put the glass down. “What do you want me to do? He is my slave, he has to obey me and if he doesn’t I need to punish him.”

“Of course, herdir.” Mablung looked up, a plea in his eyes. “But can’t you be lenient with him? He wants to try to obey you, he promised me. He doesn’t defy you out of pride or because he is rebellious, he is just frightened. You can’t fight fear with violence.” The elf breathed in deeply. “May he watch while you take me? I think it would calm him if he sees that you don’t hurt me.” Sinthoras leaned his head against the backrest and rubbed his temples. “I think I should listen to you, that’s why you are here, after all.”

He groaned. “What a day. First it is proven again that you never should give an important assignment to an orc and now I have to let a slave tell me what to do.” He caressed the elf’s hair gently, to show him that he wasn’t mad at him. He took Mablung’s words seriously. “Do you want me to take your mind off things, herdir?” Mablung moved between his legs and rubbed his crotch. Sinthoras sighed and looked down at him with half-closed lids. “That would be nice.”

The slave knew what he did, Sinthoras leaned back and let him set the pace. It felt good not having to force him and be able to enjoy it. He was a treasure, Sinthoras was sure that Melkor didn’t appreciate him, he knew after all how his Master treated his slaves. He closed his hands around the armrests, fighting for composure. He couldn’t hold the fire back completely, it coursed through him like hot waves, but if he let go completely he would burn him and he didn’t want that.

 

When he had recovered his breath, he looked down at Mablung. Sinthoras handed him the wine glass. “Drink.” Mablung took it gingerly and let the cool liquid run down his throat. “Does it hurt very much?” He could never gauge how much he had let the fire out. The elf shook his head slowly. “It isn’t so bad, herdir, but one has to get used to it. I understand if Galathil is frightened by it.” “It is my nature. I can’t change it, only dampen it.” Sinthoras petted his head. “Sit on my lap.” He wanted to do him some good.

When the slave had made himself comfortable, Sinthoras started to explore his body. He caressed his cheeks, his skin down his throat and chest. While his hand travelled down the elf’s belly, he licked a nipple. Mablung clung to him and buried his head at his shoulder. “Herdir...”, he croaked. “Please, don’t. I don’t deserve it.” Sinthoras’ heart clenched. He kissed his cheek. “Why do you say this?” His hand lay on Mablung’s thigh. “I’m just a slave”, the elf whispered. “I only did what was expected of me. I don’t deserve a reward.” “Has gentleness always to be a reward?” Sinthoras sighed. “I like to be gentle. But if you want me to stop, I will. Do you want me to?”

Mablung shook his head. “Then enjoy it, Mablung, you paid the price long ago.” His hand moved further up and any objections turned into a moan. It didn’t take long until the slave writhed in his arms and uttered small, desperate sounds. Sinthoras was sure that it had been a long time since someone last touched him like this and still he fought to not come without an order. Sinthoras wondered how long he could hold back but he didn’t want to torment him. “Come”, he said and kissed his neck. “You are wonderful, little slave”, Sinthoras murmured when Mablung licked his hand clean. “You didn't need to do this, herdir.” Sinthoras held him close when he started to cry, he couldn’t do anything else for him.

 

Mablung buried his head at Sinthoras’ shoulder and cried. The general didn’t know him a day and still he was so gentle with him. Melkor never treated him like this, even when it was a good day. He was only a thing for him, something without feelings, something to be used. Mablung closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply. He had to calm down. It wasn’t true. No, Melkor didn’t allow his slave pleasure, but on a good day he could be gentle and Mablung appreciated it. It wasn’t so bad. He had learned, he could bear it.

“I’m sorry, herdir”, he said and slid from his lap. Melkor would have beaten him for the tears. The general laid his hand on his head. “It’s okay. Galathil can watch us tomorrow. And I will try to be more lenient.” “Thank you, herdir.” Mablung had the feeling that the general said much more with this words. He had seen the scars on his back, Sinthoras knew Melkor intimately. “It is late, go to sleep. You can sleep on the couch.” Mablung curled up gratefully. He wanted to sleep, he didn’t want to think.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Sinthoras was aware that Galathil watched his every move. Yes, he feared him, it remained to be seen if he could discard this fear. Mablung knelt on the bed, presenting himself to him. He liked to look into his slave’s face when he took him but he knew that it would cause Mablung unnecessary pain if he had to lie on his back. The welts were clearly visible on his pale skin, he could feel them under his hand. Probably even this gentle caress hurt him, but if that was the case he didn’t show it, he moved into the touch and sighed quietly. 

Sinthoras moved back a step. “Undress me, Galathil.” He didn’t want him to only watch. He would be gentle and take it slow, but he wouldn’t coddle him. His slave would have to prove that he tried. Galathil obeyed hesitantly. Sinthoras stepped out of his trousers and caressed Galathil’s cheek. The elf trembled under his hand and cringed. “I want you to prepare him for me.” “I haven’t done that before, herdir.” Galathil blushed. “Not for someone else, I mean.” 

“Sit down with me.” Sinthoras sat on the bed and pulled Galathil down beside him. He placed the bowl with oil from the nightstand between them. “Oil your fingers, I will guide you.” Galathil dipped his fingers tentatively into the warmed oil and looked helpless at him. For Galathil everything concerning sex meant pain and he didn’t want to hurt is new friend, of course. He would see shortly that he didn’t hurt Mablung, quite the contrary. 

Sinthoras held his wrist and guided his hand between Mablung’s buttocks. Mablung moaned softly when Galathil penetrated him with a finger. Sinthoras grinned, it seemed as if someone exaggerated to still his friend’s fears. Galathil paused. “You like it?”, he whispered. Mablung nodded. “Don’t stop.” Sinthoras watched as Galathil gathered his courage and prepared Mablung skilfully. Soon, Mablungs moans weren’t feigned anymore. Sinthoras' breath quickened, to see them together was an arousing view. 

“That’s enough, Galathil”, he ordered at last. Galathil slid off the bed but Sinthoras held him back. “I didn’t say that you are allowed to go, slave. I’m not finished with you.” He dipped Galathil’s hand again into the oil and guided it to his arousal. Galathil trembled but he understood what he wanted and wrapped his hand around him. Sinthoras closed his eyes with pleasure. This hadn’t been possible before, if he had wanted Galathil he had needed to immobilise him. 

He stopped the deep growl, that rose in his throat, with difficulty, it would only frighten Galathil. He was fire and when he lost control his body too became fire, what the elves called Balrog. He stopped Galathil when he felt his release coming closer. “Now you can go.” While Galathil retreated to his mattress, Sinthoras caressed Mablung’s sides. “Are you ready?” “Anytime, herdir”, Mablung gasped and moaned when Sinthoras wrapped his hand around his arousal. 

Sinthoras penetrated him slowly, he knew that Mablung was used to much rougher handling but Galathil was watching and it wasn’t necessary to hurt him. Mablung moved towards him, he grew impatient. Sinthoras’ thrusts became faster. “Come for me, slave”, he breathed into his ear when he was ready. He gasped when the elf’s muscles tensed around him and thrust deep into Mablung’s shuddering body one more time.

 

Mablung savoured the small waves of pleasure, that tickled his body, with closed eyes. His Master didn’t care if he was aroused and he wasn’t most times. It felt good to be with someone who at least acknowledged that he could feel pleasure. Sinthoras lay right beside him, he felt his breath on his face. Mablung opened his eyes reluctantly, better to do it now, before it dried. Sinthoras watched him. 

“Are you well?” The heat in his body when the general had taken him had been strange, but it hadn’t hurt. “Yes, herdir.” He took Sinthoras’ hand and licked it clean, the Maia rubbed his neck with the other, gloved, hand. “You are a good slave”, he murmured. “Don’t let yourself be talked into believing differently.” “I am what my Master sees in me, your words can’t change that.” Sinthoras sighed, he knew the slave to be right, but it wasn’t fair. “Sleep, Mablung.” Mablung closed his eyes obediently, he was exhausted and glad to be allowed to sleep in a proper bed.

 

Galathil was ashamed. That Mablung had liked it didn’t change the fact that it happened against his will. It was wrong that it had aroused him to watch. What was wrong with him? “Come to me, slave.” It took Galathil a moment to understand that Gothmog talked to him. He laid down on the bed and hoped his Master wouldn’t notice his condition. To no avail, and how could he have possibly missed it? Gothmog laughed softly. “You liked to watch.” 

Gothmog caressed his inner thigh. “Do you want to come, slave?” Galathil nodded and stifled a moan. It was wrong, but he couldn’t change it and he had promised to obey Gothmog. “Beg for it. Say: ‘Please, herdir, allow me to come.’” Galathil stared at his Master. He couldn’t be serious! He couldn’t beg for this. Galathil shuddered when his Master continued to caress him. Mablung had done this for him, he owed it to him not to anger Gothmog. 

“Say it or you won’t lose this soon.” Gothmog dragged his thumb over the head of his arousal. Galathil whimpered. He glanced at Mablung to make sure he slept, he shouldn’t hear him beg for it. “P-please, herdir”, he whispered finally. “Allow me to come.” Gothmog smiled and petted his head. “Good boy.” Galathil buried his fingers in the blanket when he wrapped his fingers around him.

 

Sinthoras looked down on his gasping slave. He wouldn’t have thought that he could persuade him to beg. He licked over Galathil’s stomach and tasted salt. Could he coax him to swallow his own release? Mablung surely would have advised him against it, if he had been awake. Sinthoras sat up, it was worth a try. “Slave?” Galathil opened his eyes, his gaze was wary. “Did you see, what Mablung did after he came?” 

“Yes, herdir.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Sinthoras dragged his finger over Galathil’s skin and held it to his lips. “Lick it clean, it doesn’t befit a slave to let his Master clean up his mess.” Galathil shook his head, tears in his eyes. “Please don’t, herdir”, he begged. Sinthoras thought about it and swept his finger over Galathil’s lower lip. “Lick it off, Galathil, that’s good enough for today”, he said gently. 

Galathil obeyed with closed eyes, he didn’t want to look at his Master. Gothmog ruffled his hair. “There we go. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Galathil sobbed, he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be like that. His Master embraced him and caressed his neck. “Hush”, he murmured. “It’s okay.” And then Galathil forgot how humiliated he felt because Gothmog started to sing. 

Galathil didn’t understand the words but it sounded beautiful. He relaxed in his Master’s arms. Maybe Mablung was right and he wasn’t so bad. He didn’t want to be a slave, he didn’t want to have to do this, but surely Mablung didn’t like it either and still he submitted. Galathil snuggled up to Gothmog. If he were always like this, he could bear it.

 

“You lent your slave to Sinthoras?” Melkor felt Artano’s jealousy immediately, he had always held it against Sinthoras that Melkor listened to him. “I don’t think that concerns you”, he answered sharply. The rivalry between his two closest servants – friends – annoyed him. And he was edgy anyway, he missed the slave more than he was ready to admit. It was only a slave, it should be easily replaced, and still it didn’t feel right to not find him at home at evening. 

“You know that I would have liked to play with it but you never let me. Now you give it to Sinthoras?” Melkor shook his head. “I don’t need to justify my choices, Artano. Sinthoras has asked me for some other reason, but fine, when it comes back, I’ll send it to you.” He had a bad feeling about this and that was just why he did it. The elf was only a slave, it was replaceable, it was nothing special. Even if Artano carried things too far, as he often did, it wouldn’t be a big loss.

 

“He’s coming home soon.” Galathil shifted from one foot to the other. “Relax.” Mablung laid his hands on the other elf’s shoulders. “When he comes, kneel and wait for orders.” He felt Galathil tremble. “Are you frightened?” Galathil managed a shaky smile. “Not as long as you are here.” Mablung kissed his temple. “I’m here. He isn’t a cruel master.” “Maybe.” Mablung could understand that he had doubts, he hoped that Sinthoras wouldn’t take it too far. 

Galathil had been very withdrawn this morning and had only reluctantly told him what had happened yesterday after Mablung had fallen asleep. “I don’t want to be a slave”, Galathil whispered. “I know.” Mablung hugged him. “I don’t want to either but we don’t have a choice. You have to bear it, accept it and it will be easier.” “I’m trying and if he is afterwards always like he was yesterday... I think I can bear it.” Galathil winced when the door opened. “Relieve him of his coat. Don’t be frightened, I’m right here”, Mablung said soothingly. Galathil slowly walked to Sinthoras.

 

Sinthoras was pleasantly surprised when Galathil came to him and helped him out of his coat. He had half expected him to withdraw again. He had taken it far, he had known that. But when he tried to caress the slave’s cheek, he realized, that not everything was fine. Galathil cringed in expectation of a slap. “Don’t be frightened”, Sinthoras said gently. “I won’t beat you, you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Galathil nodded and relaxed and now he could lay his hand on his cheek. He gave him a short kiss. “Are you fine?” “Yes, herdir.” Galathil blushed. “Good. Leave me and Mablung alone for a moment. I will call you, when I need you.” Sinthoras turned to Mablung as soon as Galathil had left the room. “Is he really all right?” Mablung nodded. “He recovered himself but he was very withdrawn this morning. He said, if you are always so nice to him afterwards, he can bear it. He will get used to it.” 

“‘But it was still too early’, you want to say.” Sinthoras smiled and embraced him. “You need a hug.” Mablung savoured the tenderness, Sinthoras was right, he needed it, he missed it so much to be treated gently. “It’s hard at first, to accept that you aren’t free anymore. He doesn’t want to be a slave and until now he only experienced you as someone who hurt him. He tries. Only... don’t ask too much of him.” 

“What is too much?” Sinthoras shook his head. Until now it had already been too much to try to touch him. The elf furrowed his brow. “You are fire. You know very well that you can burn. He won’t understand that this is a part of you.” Sinthoras nodded. Sometimes he was at odds with his nature. He wasn’t ashamed for being what he was, but he was sorry that others had to suffer from it. “I’ll be careful.” Sinthoras caressed Mablung’s back. “Are you in pain?” The elf gave him a crooked smile. “A little, herdir, but I’m used to it. It isn’t so bad.” 

Sinthoras wondered if he really felt it this way or if he just didn’t want to show weakness. He was strong and he had an endearing nature. He didn’t deserve to be treated so bad by Melkor. If it weren’t Melkor he might have claimed Mablung for himself. Before he could dwell on the thought any longer he called for Galathil and sat down. “Kneel between my legs.” Sinthoras opened his trousers.  Galathil was agitated, he felt it clearly and ruffled his hair soothingly. He would hold back and not push him too much. “Use your mouth, slave”, he ordered softly. Galathil gulped, but he obeyed.

 

Mablung knelt behind Galathil and caressed his shoulders, he wanted him to feel that he was at his side. He hoped, the general wouldn’t come in Galathil’s mouth, it had startled  _ him  _ and for Galathil it would be too much. Sinthoras pulled Galathil up and kissed him when he came. Mablung relaxed relieved. He hoped, Galathil would come to understand how lucky he was to have such a Master. The general brushed a strand of hair out of his face and looked at Mablung. “Lick it from his chest.” 

Mablung gently turned Galathil a bit and kissed the hollow between his collarbones. Galathil sighed quietly when he licked his skin. Mablung smiled, he heard that Sinthoras liked his performance. “You can go now, Galathil. Today you are allowed to sleep in my bed”, Sinthoras said after a while. When Galathil had left the room he pulled Mablung on his lap, Mablung felt his arousal under him and moved his hip slowly. 

“Don’t move”, he whispered into his ear and kissed his neck. Mablung relaxed when the general entered him, he took his time and when he came, Mablung was ready too. It was pleasant to come with his Master but he knew that he shouldn’t get used to it. Melkor was different, he would never cuddle with him like the general was doing right now.

 

“I’m going to miss you.” Galathil embraced Mablung, his Master had left them to give them a moment to say goodbye. Mablung kissed his cheek. “I’m going to miss you too, Galathil. Can you do it?” Galathil nodded disheartened. Mablung had helped him to come to terms with his fate, he knew now that he was lucky. He had seen Mablung’s back often in the last days. Even when he had defied Gothmog, he had never beaten him so hard. Mablung pretended to be fine but Galathil knew that he was unhappy. 

He thought of Gothmog’s tenderness as a gift that you mustn’t throw away. Galathil wasn’t sure if he ever could see it like that but he would obey. He knew now that it could have been much worse. Mablung obeyed his Master and still his back was bloody, he wouldn’t forget that. “We have to go.” Gothmog came to them and Mablung stepped back, his eyes were sad. Galathil wished he could have helped him.

 

Mablung lay in his corner and dozed. It had been a few days since the general had brought him back to his Master and he hadn’t slept much the last nights. He hadn’t anything else to do in the daytime anyway. Sometimes Melkor took him along to court or to his office but most times he just left him here. Mablung was glad to be left alone, he couldn’t relax in his Master’s presence. He scrambled up startled when he heard the door. It was too early, he hadn’t anticipated his Master. 

Then he heard the violin and he knew that it wasn’t his Master. He knelt down anyway and waited for the general. What might he want? Sinthoras seemed tense. “How are you, slave?” “I’m fine, herdir.” Mablung would never give a different answer. He was a slave, he needed to function – but his back hurt. On the evening the general brought him back, Melkor had beaten him bloody. Mablung didn’t move when Sinthoras walked around him, although he would have liked to know what he did behind him. 

“I’m applying a salve to your wounds”, Sinthoras said before he touched him. The salve burned in the open lashes but Mablung was glad for the attention. “If it gets too bad, come to me, Mablung. I owe you, I don’t want you to suffer.” Mablung shook his head. “I can’t, herdir, I’m his slave, I can’t leave him.” Sinthoras sighed. “Of course. I will check on you from time to time. It isn’t right that he doesn’t tend to your wounds.” 

Mablung swallowed his tears. “Thank you, herdir, but you shouldn’t. I’m only a slave, he is going to be angry if he finds out.” “Nonsense!” Sinthoras crouched down in front of him and lifted his chin. “Look at me. You are a living, thinking person with a name. You have feelings, you have character – and you certainly aren’t interchangeable at will, no one is. Some of us may have forgotten this but I haven’t and you shouldn’t talk of yourself so lowly. Melkor will listen to me, he only needs to see the advantage of treating your wounds.” 

Mablung’s tears ran freely now. Why did he do all this for him? He was just anybody. Sinthoras embraced him. “Hush. I know. You only said what Melkor taught you to think. I’m not him, I’m not even like him. It hurts me to hear you talk so lowly of yourself, you are more than a body, even though Melkor thinks otherwise.” 

“It is easier to bear, if you believe that your Master is right. Don’t defy him, don’t even think that he has no right to treat you so bad”, Mablung sobbed. “I have decided to believe him.” Sinthoras rubbed Mablungs neck soothingly. He didn’t know what to say. He pitied him but he could do nothing more. “I have to go”, he whispered awkwardly. If Melkor found him here, embracing his slave, he would get bad for them both. He needed to catch Melkor in the right mood to talk with him about it.

 

Mablung stared at his Master. He sent him to Sauron! Why? Hadn’t he served him well enough? He had said for a week, but who could say if he just left him there. He thought of Reviahûn, his death... Mablung sobbed, he was so frightened that he forgot, that he wasn’t allowed to speak. “Please don’t do that, herdir. I beg you, don’t give me to him.” His Master slapped his face hard. 

“You are going to do what I tell you, slave. Don’t dare to defy me. You will obey him, do you understand?” “Yes, herdir.” Mablung trembled. He was so frightened of Sauron, why couldn’t his Master understand that. He had to know how Sauron was. But Melkor himself did take pleasure in hurting him, maybe he didn’t see a difference. He had to serve Sauron as well as he could, if he displeased him, Melkor wouldn’t want him back.

 

Mablung knocked timidly at Sauron’s door the next morning, his hands trembled. Sinthoras had treated him well, but he was sure that it would be completely different with Sauron. The Maia opened the door and smiled cruelly. “I knew he wouldn’t withhold you from me forever, slave. Follow me.” Mablung felt panic rise up but he would obey, he wouldn’t disappoint his Master. Sauron strapped a leather mask over Mablung’s eyes, blinding him completely. 

He gasped when Sauron grabbed his neck and pushed him forward. Mablungs heart beat wildly, his thoughts raced. What would he do to him? Sauron’s preferences were infamous, most of his slaves didn’t survive more than two weeks. Would he dare to kill his king’s slave? But was he still Melkor’s slave or was he a gift to the general? 

Mablung’s hips bumped into an obstacle, the pressure against his neck intensified and he bowed down. “Grip the table-legs with your hands, slave.” Mablung had to stand on tiptoe and stretch far to obey the order. Sauron tied his wrists and ankles to the table. Mablung couldn’t move, his joints already hurt form the stretched posture. “You think, Melkor hurt you?”, Sauron whispered, his breath hot on Mablungs ear. “I’m going to show you how real pain feels, slave.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

“Artano? Are you there?” Sinthoras walked around the rooms but Artano wasn’t home. That was strange, Artano had asked him to come to talk to him about an expansion of his flat. Even he had finally had to understand that some things had to be discussed with him before Melkor heard about them. Sinthoras didn’t like Artano particularly, he was even more arrogant since he had had ruled Angband in Melkor’s absence.

He couldn’t accept that Sinthoras was closer to Melkor than him. And how he treated the slaves disgusted Sinthoras. He heard a soft whimper through a half-closed door and opened it completely. Maybe he could help the poor thing. He shouldn’t pick a fight with Artano, Melkor hated quarrel between his servants, but he wouldn’t hesitate if he could save a life. He wouldn’t have such an opportunity again anytime soon.

 

Mablung heard that he wasn’t alone anymore. His hearing had sharpened nearly painfully in the last days. Sauron had left him here, bound and blinded. He trembled, Sauron never had visitors as far as he could tell, so the presence of another meant only more pain. He sobbed, he only wished this week to be over, for this nightmare to end. But what if Melkor wouldn’t come for him, if he didn’t want him anymore? Mablung shivered, he had a fever, the bonds dug into his skin. How long would he have to bear this?

 

A cold shiver ran down Sinthoras’ back when he recognised the elf. “Mablung!”, he croaked. “What are you doing here?” Even while he spoke he knelt down and cut the bonds with his dagger. He was relieved that Artano hadn’t used chains, it would have taken longer to get them off. Mablung cringed from his touch. “Herdir ordered, I obey”, he moaned. “Don’t be afraid anymore, it’s over. I won’t hurt you.” Sinthoras started to caress his cheek gently and pulled his hand back startled. “You are burning!”

He shouldn’t be surprised, his back was covered in bloody welts and he saw a few burns, intentionally inflicted no doubt. He removed the mask and wanted to lift him up. “It’s over, nethben, I’m taking you with me.” To his surprise Mablung struggled weakly. “No!” His eyes were dark with fear. “Herdir will be angry. I want to be a good slave. Herdir will be disappointed if I don’t obey.” Sinthoras felt hot anger rise in him. Anger at Sauron because he had battered him so and anger at Melkor because he had given him to Sauron.

He cradled the trembling slave and said gently: “Nonsense! He will be proud of you, you are a very good slave. He has no cause to be mad at you.” “Do you really think so?” Mablung’s head fell against Sinthoras’ shoulder, he hadn’t any strength left. “Yes.” Sinthoras fought his tears. How could anyone treat this slave so bad? How could Melkor give this incredible elf to Sauron. He hurried to get home. First he needed to tend to his wounds and then he had to talk to Melkor.

Mablung was unconscious when he laid him on Galathil’s bed and Sinthoras wasn’t surprised, he looked bad. Galathil came in through another door and gasped. “Why? What did he do...” He started to sob. “He didn’t do anything. That was Sauron.” Sinthoras thought that his brother had earned himself the name. He embraced his crying slave. “You wouldn’t do something like that, herdir. You... you wouldn’t...”

Sinthoras rubbed his neck soothingly. “No, Galathil, I would treat no one like this. I would never do this to you. Bring me my herbs.” Sinthoras picked out various herbs and passed them to Galathil. “Brew a tea from these, please.” Galathil nodded and stood up. Sinthoras dabbed at Mablung’s back with a wet cloth. His anger burned hot but at the moment it was more important to ease the elf’s pain.

He applied a salve to the wounds and stood up. “Look after him, nethben, and try to make him drink some of the tea. I need to see Melkor.” ‘To tell him that his slave is dying here.’ He didn’t delude himself about the condition of the elf. He was grievously hurt, it would need a miracle to save him.

 

Melkor looked up from the document he was reading when the door to his office was wrenched open. Sinthoras sounded as if he would burst into flame any moment. What had happened to make him so angry? “What got into you to give Mablung to Sauron?” Melkor looked puzzled at him, he didn’t understand a word, but that Artano and Sinthoras quarrelled wasn’t knew. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t call him that. He dislikes it. And who is Mablung? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t care what he...” Sinthoras broke off and stared at him open-mouthed, his eyes narrowed. Melkor felt that his anger was directed at him this time. “You didn’t ask him what his name is. I can’t believe it! I’m talking about your slave! How long do you have him? Twenty years? And you didn’t even bother to ask his name?” “It’s only a slave, what do I care for its name? And concerning Artano: He wanted it. I didn’t deny you to have it either.”

Melkor shrugged, he didn’t understand Sinthoras’ anger. He had lent his other slaves much more generously. He considered the matter done. “That’s something different”, Sinthoras growled. “You know Sauron’s preferences.” “I’ll repeat myself, Sinthoras. It is only a slave. Slaves are meant to be used. What’s wrong with you?” Melkor felt his anger rise, too. It irritated him that Sinthoras of all people was so disrespectful suddenly.

“What’s wrong with me?” Sinthoras’ eyes burned. “Your slave lies feverish and almost tortured to death in my sleeping room and you ask me what’s wrong with me?” “You took it with you? I don’t know why you were in Artano’s rooms but...” “I couldn’t leave him there!”, Sinthoras interrupted him. “You had no right to take it!”, Melkor snapped at him. “Artano knows what he does. Maybe the slave disobeyed him and he punished it.”

“You can’t be serious! This elf has done everything you wanted. He obeyed you unquestioningly, has bowed to your every wish. Do you really think he would defy your orders? You ordered him to obey Sauron and he did exactly that, I’m sure of it. Do you want to know, what he said when I took him with me? He said, I can’t take him away, that you are going to be angry, that he wants to be a good slave.” Sinthoras swallowed hard, the memory brought tears to his eyes.

“Look at me, herdir, and tell me again that you believe he refused to obey Sauron”, he croaked. “It did say so?” Melkor felt as if someone had emptied a bucket of ice water over his head. “How is it?” “ _He_ ”, snapped Sinthoras. “At least have the decency to acknowledge that he is a person.” He sighed and looked away. “He isn’t well. I don’t want to deceive you, I can’t imagine him to survive this.”

Melkor stood motionless and stared into space. He had been restless the whole week. Yes, he knew Artano, he had worried for the slave, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it. And now had happened, what he had secretly feared. “No!” Melkor clenched his fists, he wouldn’t give up on it so easily. “I won’t let it die.” He saw Sinthoras biting back a retort and maybe he was right. Maybe the slave was a person but he couldn’t think about that now. “Sinthoras I know you do your best but none of us understands elves really well. Find a slave that is well versed in the art of healing.” “Yes, herdir.”

 

It took Sinthoras long to find a slave who was ready to come with him. He could understand, they feared that they would be punished if Mablung died. A distraught Galathil stood in the living room and looked as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. “ _He_ is in your sleeping room, herdir”, he said with trembling voice. Sinthoras patted his arm. He understood why Galathil had been so scared when he saw Melkor. His Master knelt on the floor, his hand on Mablung’s hair, despair stood in his eyes.

Sinthoras pointed at the case with his instruments and herbs and said to the healer. “Use what you need and do what you can for him. I’ll send in Galathil to help you.” He took Melkor’s hand and left the women with the unconscious elf. Melkor followed him without argument and sank down in a chair. “Help the healer, Galathil”, Sinthoras said and saw the relieve in the elf’s eyes. He felt uncomfortable with Melkor in the same room.

“I sent it to its death”, Melkor said bleakly when they were alone. “You are right, I know Artano. I should have know that he would kill it.” “Why did you lent him to him then?” Melkor smiled crookedly. “I wanted to prove to myself that it is only a slave like any other.” He shook his head. “It always obeyed me, even when it knew I would hurt it anyway. It was a good slave. I... like him.” Melkor looked startled when he said it. Sinthoras noted that he had switched address suddenly.

“Why then didn’t you even ask his name? Would it have been so hard to show a little gentleness?” Sinthoras didn’t understand his Master. “He is an enemy, Sinthoras. I know you like to act merciful, but I...” Melkor clenched his fist. “I will never forget why my siblings came and took everything away from me.” Sinthoras took his fist between his own hands and caressed Melkor’s fingers until he opened them.

“He isn’t an enemy, herdir. He is your slave. I know your preferences and it isn’t wrong to satisfy them on your possession, but slaves have feelings too. I think, obedience shouldn’t be repaid with cruelty.” “I don’t want him to die, Sinthoras.” Melkor cried soundlessly. “Why didn’t I realise earlier that I can’t simply replace him? Now I will lose him.” “He really means something to you.” Sinthoras held Melkor and let him cry on his shoulder.

He knew that it was a big act of faith that he unburdened his heart to him. Melkor never showed weakness. After a while Melkor sat up and wiped the tears away. “He won’t die”, he said determined. “I won’t allow it.” For the first time Sinthoras wished his Master to be mighty enough to conquer death. “Masters?” He turned his head and saw the healer standing in the door. “Is he going to survive?”, Melkor asked sharply, Sinthoras felt his suppressed hope. She lowered her head.

“I did what I could and his wounds will heal if he lives long enough. But I can’t heal his soul, I don’t think he is going to make it. He doesn’t want to wake up. You can only make him comfortable and... maybe he will survive if you give him what he longs for.” ‘Sinthoras I need feather and paper.” Melkor wrote something down and walked to the slave. She stepped back, startled. “What’s your name?”, he asked gently. “Nelwen, herdir.”

“Nelwen, you did what you could and I thank you for it. I don’t punish the messenger. Take this and if you ever are in trouble show it to the guards and they will bring you to me. You can go now.” “Thank you, herdir.” Sinthoras saw her to the door. “Thank you for your help, Nelwen”, he said. “Will you find back?” He didn’t want to leave Melkor. “Yes, herdir.” She bowed low. Melkor looked after her and then turned to Sinthoras. His grief had subsided for the moment, the wrath had gained the upper hand.

He wouldn’t let Artano get away with this. This time he had overstepped the mark. “Find Artano, shackle him and lock him in the most uncomfortable cell you can find”, he growled. “And tell him to pray that Mablung survives or I will never forgive him.” Sinthoras hesitated. “Are you sure that I can leave you.” Melkor nodded tersely. “Don’t scare my slave too much”, Sinthoras asked with a smile and went to search for Artano. He had already an idea where to find him.

 

“Artano, follow me.” Sinthoras grabbed his arm and dragged him after him, he had chosen his fiery body for this, he wanted to intimidate him. “What are you doing, Sinthoras? What happened?” Artano fought futilely against his grip. The slaves who assisted Artano in the forge looked away. Sinthoras was sure that they felt secretly pleased that their hated Master was being humiliated.

“What happened?” Sinthoras drove him against the next wall. “Melkor is furious that you took it too far with his slave, he wants you to be locked up. And now come! Or I’m going to use force.” Sauron looked at him open-mouthed and let himself be pushed to the anvil without a fight. Sinthoras was surprised when he allowed him to shackle him but maybe he was just too stunned. In the past Sauron could always be sure of Melkor’s favour.

His contradictoriness only woke when Sinthoras pushed him roughly into a cell. “I want justice!” Sinthoras grabbed his collar and threw him to the ground. “Justice? Oh, I’m sure you will finally get what you deserve. Pray that Mablung survives, it doesn’t look good for you anyway. If he dies you will suffer as he did. And don’t think I will speak for you.” Sinthoras closed the door violently and locked it, he would have preferred to throw the key away and let him rot in there but that would be unreasonable. Melkor would think of a fitting punishment.

 

Sinthoras felt that his Master needed him. He sat next to the unconscious slave since he had come here two days ago. Frequently his eyes filled with tears. Sinthoras had never seen Melkor so weak, he always hid his feelings behind a mask of hate and cruelty. He could have never imagined that the death of an elf could make his Master feel so down. He hated them after all. “Come, herdir, you need some rest.”

He took Melkor’s hand and pulled him to the bed. Melkor allowed meekly to be undressed, only when Sinthoras took his crown off did he give a start. “Sleep, herdir, you are exhausted.” Sinthoras caressed the red mark on his forehead. “I can’t”, Melkor murmured but he allowed to be pulled down beside him. “I’m so lonely, Sinthoras.” Sinthoras embraced him tightly. He had been with him nearly from the beginning, he knew how the rejection of his siblings, especially Manwe’s, had hurt him.

“You have me.” He kissed his temple. “Yes.” Melkor smiled. “You were always there for me, you never deserted me.” Melkor pulled off Sinthoras’ glove and kissed his cold fingers. “You protected me, I will never forget.” “I did it gladly, you are the only one I ever wanted to serve.” He had always wanted Melkor to be happy – and he would never have thought that a dying slave could make his Master so unhappy. Did that mean that Melkor needed Mablung to be happy?

Sinthoras shook his head. That was too far-fetched and it mustn’t be, the elf would die soon. “I don’t want him to die. He mustn’t leave me”, Melkor murmured nearly inaudible, his head fell to the side. Sinthoras kissed his temple again. ‘Sleep well, herdir.’ He guarded his sleep, a bit surprised that Melkor slept in the manner of an elf. Somehow life would go on, it had to.

 

Melkor walked up the narrow steps inside the mountain that brought him to a secret chamber known only to him. He liked to pretend that he didn’t need to play his instrument, forced himself to stay away from it until it almost hurt physically. He didn’t want to be so dependent on it, it was a weakness that had been made clear to him in his time in Mandos. He was Melkor, the mightiest of all the Ainur, he should be above such things.

But his slave was dying and the pain in his heart didn’t go away. He knew, Sinthoras worried about him, he couldn’t tell himself what had come over him. He had seen many slaves die, no death had affected him so deeply as the slow dying of this elf. It was a conscious decision to not think his name. He was a slave, his name was unimportant – his life was unimportant. But why then did it hurt so much?

Melkor wiped the dust from the piano’s dark finish and opened the lid over the keys. His fingers trembled when he started to play a sad melody. The tenseness bled from his body that he wore much too long already. He didn’t dare to leave it because he feared it wouldn’t work. Sometimes it became completely silent around him as if he were cut off from the Music. Melkor shook his head.

He didn’t want to think about it, but the concern for his slave made all his insecurities, everything he wanted to forget, come to light. Wouldn’t it be better to just let him die? Maybe he could forget again... No, he couldn’t. He didn’t hate him as he had hated all the other slaves. Mablung... Melkor played his name a small smile on his lips. He liked him... he wanted to own him, completely, he wouldn’t leave him to his brother. Never!

 

“Sinthoras, can I talk to you?” He turned around, surprised to be addressed so familiarly. “Mo? What brings you here?” He didn’t see the other Maia often, he rarely left the mines. What could he want? Sinthoras rubbed the bridge of his nose. Melkor was good for nothing at the moment, either he sat at Mablung’s side or he vanished for hours and he couldn’t even feel him then. The atmosphere in Angband was even more oppressive than usual, Melkor’s grief cast a cloud over everything.

How would it be, when Mablung finally succumbed to his injuries? Sinthoras tried to cover up Melkor’s condition as good as he could, no one should see him like this, but it got harder each day, his brothers wanted to know where their King got to. The worst part was that Mablung’s physical injuries healed well, and still he became weaker every day. “When I wanted to give a report to Artano, I heard that you locked him up. What on earth did he do?”

Sinthoras sighed. Of course, Mo was reporting to Artano and he could hardly lie to him. “He went too far with Melkor’s slave, it’s likely he won’t survive, Melkor wasn’t pleased.” Mo turned white as a sheet to his surprise. “Mablung?” “You know him?” “Do you remember the slave with the sprained ankle?” Mo had tears in his eyes. “That was him?” Sinthoras remembered but he hadn’t associated the elf with Mablung. “But if he belonged to you, why did Melkor...” Usually Melkor didn’t demand another’s slave.

“I never raised a claim on him.” Mo laughed bitterly. “I didn’t want to risk that Artano might set his eye on him and now he had him anyway.” He shook his head. “Isn’t there any hope for him?” “Not much.” Sinthoras swallowed his tears. The thought that Mablung was going to die pained him. He hadn’t known him long, but he had liked him. “Can I... see him.” Mo’s voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry, but Melkor is with him and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.” He cared for nothing at the moment, everything lay on Sinthoras’ shoulders because Sauron was unavailable. “Of course. I... will you tell me, when he...” Sinthoras nodded, a tear ran down his cheek.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Melkor sat at Mablung’s bed and cried silently. Sinthoras’ hand lay on his shoulder as so often in the last days. It had been two weeks. Mablung was rarely awake and when he was, he didn’t recognise him. He called for his mother, his sister and someone called Glorfindel. “He is dying”, he said softly. ‘It would be merciful to let him go, but I can’t.’

“He was my slave for twenty years and I know nothing about him. If you hadn’t asked him, I wouldn’t even know his name. I wasn’t interested. He was here, always ready for me, that was enough and I took it for granted. I don’t know what he longs for, I don’t know him. How can I grant him a wish when I don't know what it is? And how can he receive it if he isn’t awake?”

“Freedom? Isn’t that what they all want?”, Sinthoras asked gently. “Freedom?” Melkor shook his head. “I can’t set him free, Sinthoras, I’m not that selfless.” Galathil stood in a corner and struggled with himself. He knew what Mablung longed for, should he tell them? But he couldn’t speak in Morgoth’s presence, he would tell Gothmog later.

 

“Herdir?” Sinthoras looked at Galathil who lay snuggled up against him on the couch, he had ceded his bed to Melkor. “What is it, Galathil?”, he asked with a sigh, he had had a long day and wanted to rest. Galathil was nervous, he fidgeted. “It’s just... I know what Mablung wants. Mor... I mean the King, he doesn’t have to let him go, herdir.” “What then? Please, Galathil, tell me. Surely you want him to survive, too.”

Sinthoras’ heart beat faster. Maybe there was still hope. Galathil took a deep breath. “He was so unhappy, herdir. He tried to hide it from me because he wanted me to lose my fear of you, but I did see it anyway. He is lonely and he suffers. What he longs for, herdir, all he wants is his Master treating him less cold, that he acknowledges that he is a living being, that he doesn’t treat him like an object.” “Thank you, Galathil. I will tell Melkor.” Could Melkor do that? Could he show the slave that he meant something to him?

 

Melkor felt hope rise in him when Sinthoras told him in the morning what his slave had told him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, maybe it won’t work. Don’t build up false hopes’, he chided himself. How could he show him that he liked him if he was unconscious? Melkor looked down on Mablung, deep in thoughts, and gently wiped a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead. “Leave me alone”, he said to Sinthoras.

“Of course”, Sinthoras murmured and left the room. Melkor waited for a moment, the hand on Mablungs forehead, his breath was so weak. Maybe it was too late anyway. Careful not to hurt him he laid down beside him and put his arms around him, the elf’s head on his chest. “Mablung, how can I show you that I’m fond of you when you aren’t awake?”, he whispered. “Please, Mablung, wake up. You are the only slave that ever meant something to me. Don’t die, please.” He buried his head in Mablung’s hair and cried. ‘I don’t want to be alone. Stay with me.’

 

Mablung blinked, he felt awfully weak and was in pain. What had happened? Had he had an accident in the mountains? Somebody held him. “Glorfindel?”, he mumbled. No. He came to himself with a start. Sinthoras had rescued him from Sauron’s dungeon, Melkor would be furious. He hoped his Master would wait to punish him until he felt better. Mablung started to tremble. “Mablung, please don’t die”, the one who held him whispered and Mablung felt cold when he realised that it was his Master – and he cried.

“Herdir?”, he croaked. Did he cry because of him? Was he really dying? He didn’t feel that bad. “You are awake.” Melkor caressed his cheek, his eyes were red from crying. “I’m so glad.” Mablung couldn’t believe it. He meant nothing to his Master. “You were unconscious a long time.” His Master kissed him gently. Mablung held still because he had learned to do so, but he thought that he didn’t deserve such gentleness. “I disappointed you, herdir. Forgive me, please, don’t punish me too hard”, he whispered.

He talked without permission, but it was only a small offence in light of him being here. Melkor shook his head. “You haven’t disappointed me, I know how Artano can be. Don’t be frightened, I’m not angry. You were always a good, obedient slave and I treated you very bad. That is going to change. I can’t promise that you won’t suffer pain, but I will be more merciful.” “Why, herdir? You owe your slave nothing.” “Maybe, but there aren’t many slaves like you, you can’t be replaced easily, I know this now.” Mablung snuggled up to him hesitantly. “Thank you, herdir. I will try to be worthy of your mercy.”

“You already are.” Melkor kissed his temple, to hold the elf in his arms aroused him but he held back. Mablung surely would be frightened by this now, after what Artano had done to him. He was surprised actually that he was so calm. He had almost expected him to not be able to bear his touch. He needed to take it slow, so he only asked: “Galathil said that you wanted nothing more than my affection. Is this true?”

“Why did Galathil tell you this?” Mablungs voice trembled, he didn’t know how Melkor would react to this. “You were ill, mortally ill. The healer told me that I might be able to safe you if I gave you what you long for, and Galathil knew. But you didn’t answer my question.” No, he hadn’t. His Master surprised him, normally he would have punished him. “Yes, herdir, that is everything I want”, Mablung answered haltingly.

“My freedom was taken away and I was told that my worth is determined by my Master. If I have to be a slave at least I want to be a good slave. I did everything to please you but it was never enough.” Mablung sobbed. “I felt so worthless, like a thing, and no one cares if it is broken because it can be replaced anytime. When you sent me to your general I feared that you wouldn’t want me back, that you had grown tired of me.” Mablung cried, he had been so frightened, alone in the dark and always there was just more pain.

“When I thought, I’d lose you, I realised how exceptional, how irreplaceable you are.” Melkor caressed the crying elf’s back gently, the whiplashes weren’t yet healed completely. “But I don’t bestow my feelings freely. How do you want me to show you my fondness?” “Cuddle with me sometimes, like now. Speak with me, not only: ‘Slave do this, slave do that.’ I can bear pain as long as you don’t treat me afterwards as if I weren’t there. I always felt as If I did something wrong and you were displeased with me.” Mablung ducked and waited for Melkor’s response. He has spoken very openly, much too openly.

Melkor thought about the things, his slave had said. He should be angry now, but he wasn’t. He only felt surprised that his slave didn’t fear him. He had even given him permission to beat him! Of course he didn’t need his permission, but still... “It isn’t difficult for you to submit to me”, he stated. He had never felt his hate, apart from their first night. “No, herdir. I got used to the fact that my life no longer belongs to me. I’m almost as long a slave as I was free. I was only nineteen, counted in Years of the Trees, when I was captured.”

“Nineteen? How old are you now?” He would hear more of Mablung now and he intended to listen closely. “I don’t know exactly, herdir. The years shortened and I lost track of time in the mines but... around three hundred sunyears.” “When were you captured?” He only knew that Mablung was a Noldo, he couldn’t have lived long in Arda. “I was separated from my people on the Ice.” The elf shivered in his arms.

“There was ice everywhere and it was so cold but I kept on going, I don’t know why. Eventually I reached land and just fell over. When I woke again I was tied to a horse, then an orc realised that I was awake and they forced me to walk. But I talk too much. Forgive me, herdir.” “No, go on. I want to know more about you. How did you live before you became a slave?” “You really care? And you are sure that I won’t bore you?” Mablung looked puzzled at Melkor. He only knew him as a severe, harsh, often cruel Master. How could he change so suddenly?

“I want to know everything about you. Who are your parents? Do you have siblings? Did they come to Beleriand too? I didn’t even ask your name, Sinthoras had to do that for me. So, what’s your name?” “Mablung, herdir.” “Mablung.” It felt so strange to hear him say his name. A pleasant shiver ran down Mablung’s spine. “But you can tell me later if you want, you are still weak.” Melkor suddenly remembered his slave’s condition. “No, I want to tell you now.”

Mablung wanted to exploit his Master’s change of mind as long as it lasted. “But if you don’t mind, herdir, I’d like to drink something.” “Of course, how could I forget.” Melkor helped him to drink a little warm broth from a bowl. “Please, herdir, can we cuddle again”, he asked shyly after he had emptied the bowl. “Of course.” Melkor was surprised that he asked – and so sweetly - he smiled. A slave that didn’t only bear his Master’s touch but begged for it was new for him. He should loosen the reins a bit, maybe his slave would show more exceptional features. It felt nice to not be hated by his slave.

 

“My parents are Thorgil and Sarena”, Mablung started softly. “I’m their oldest child and have a sister who is four years younger than me, Liriel. Father was a servant of Prince Turgon, mother is a weaver. My sister”, he laughed, “she wanted to be a smith. I don’t know if she succeeded. They stayed in Aman, my father disapproved of falling out with the Valar and he didn’t like Feanor. I didn’t even say good bye because I knew they would try to make me stay.”

Mablung's voice was breathy. “It would have been smarter to listen to my parents but I had a mind of my own and I fancied myself grown up. I wanted to be as free as I had been as a child. I was always climbing around in the mountains, I had a cave were I slept. My mother often said she didn’t know anymore what I looked like because I was never at home. That was what I wanted. To walk around in the mountains that I knew so well that I even found my way at dusk. My sister came with me sometimes when she was old enough.

At first I didn’t want her to, but then we became best friends. We were happy. But then my father decided that I was old enough to work and procured an employment at the palace. I was so mad at him, because he had decided my future without asking me! I missed the mountains so much and then someone said: ‘Why don’t we go away? To this big land on the other side of the ocean.’ I wanted to go. I wanted to see new mountains, strange lands. I wanted to be free, but it turned out completely different.”

Mablung sighed sadly. “It was so awful at first in the mines. I never had to work so hard before and of course I had to get used to slavery, but I survived. I didn’t want to die, most of the time at least.” “Who is Glorfindel?” “Herdir?” Mablungs heart skipped a beat. He had decided consciously to not speak of him. “You called for him. Who is he?” “We were a couple, before... everything happened, he was older than me but I still drew his interest. But I assure you, herdir, I’m yours completely.”

“Relax. I thought it might be something like that.” Melkor caressed him soothingly. “May I ask you for something, herdir?”, Mablung dared to ask. The memory of his sister had reminded him of something. “What’s on your mind, nethben?” Mablung blinked astonished. Young one? That was the first time that his Master addressed him with something like a term of affection.

“My sister gave me a chain with a small, golden flower for my eighteenth birthday. She made it herself. ‘So you won’t forget me’, she said as if she knew that I would go away soon. It was taken away from me when I became a slave. If it is still to be found, if it isn’t too much trouble, may I have it back?” “I will enquire about it. And now sleep, you aren’t completely healed yet.” His Master caressed his cheek. “But not before you had your pleasure.”

Mablung’s hand wandered up his thigh enticingly. “You want me. Take what is yours, herdir.” “Aren’t you frightened?”, Melkor asked taken by surprise. He wasn’t used to being urged to have sex by his slave – and his slave knew how to touch him, he stifled a moan. “Why should I be frightened of you? The general hurt me and yes, he resembles you. You are both aroused by inflicting pain but I’m frightened of him, not of you. You are my Master.” Melkor kissed him softly and looked long at him.

His slave’s face was ashen and he trembled. Regardless of what he said, he wasn’t well, he couldn’t take him now although it was tempting. Melkor caught the stroking hand and laced his fingers with Mablung’s. “I don’t know if I deserve that you don’t fear me.” Melkor smiled crookedly. “If I were in a different mood I might think it appropriate to teach you fear of me, but it won’t be like this anymore. I promise you that I won’t be as cruel as I was until now. You are weak, Mablung, I don’t want to hurt you. Sleep...”

Melkor kissed his temple and hummed softly, the slave fought for a while against the effect but he couldn’t win against his power and finally fell asleep. Melkor embraced him protectively. Tenderness washed over him when he looked into Mablung’s peaceful face. ‘Artano is going to suffer for what he did to you’, he vowed.

 

Melkor, to his surprise, found his slave kneeling on the floor. He had brought him home this morning and laid him in his bed, he shouldn’t sleep on the floor yet. Now that he had woken, his wounds healed fast and Melkor thought that they had caused Sinthoras enough inconvenience. He had wanted to take it slow, his slave had been hurt so badly. He hadn’t expected that his slave would return to their old daily routine on his own.

He felt his fear. Not the panic he had anticipated and that impressed him, he knew Artano’s methods well, but the same fear he had felt in him for the last twenty years. Melkor petted his head. “Has your soup been brought?” Sinthoras had advised him that his slave should only eat light meals at first, after he hadn’t eaten much for so long. “Yes, herdir. Thank you.” Melkor felt him tremble. “What are you afraid of, nethben?” He didn’t want to address him by his name, not only because it was uncommon but because it made him think of the look on Sinthoras’ face when he realised that he didn’t know his slave’s name. He felt ashamed of himself.

“I fear to not be able to satisfy your needs, herdir. I want to serve you well and I don’t know if I’m able to do so.” Melkor lifted his chin so he could look at his face. “You said, you feel as if you aren’t good enough.” Melkor traced his lips with a finger. “Believe me, slave, you would notice if you weren’t pleasing me. I tend to showing my displeasure clearly.” He stopped, when he realised that in the past he had often vented his anger of others on his slave – as he had always done. How should the slave be able to discern the difference?

“Go to sleep, nethben, you are still weak. You were a good slave and you will be again, when your wounds are healed.” Melkor watched him lying down, the next days would be a trial of patience for him and then... He wasn’t sure if Artano really hadn’t harmed the slave more deeply or if he just hid it well. Who could say what would resurface when he wanted to use him? Melkor sat down for his dinner. Usually he didn’t bother to think about such things. Slaves wore off over time and when they did or became useless, you took a new one. This one was... different.

Yes, he was afraid of him, but the fear didn’t cripple him. He submitted, but slavery hadn’t broken him, neither had the torture Artano had inflicted, Melkor could see that already, regardless of what might resurface. His slave had been trained by someone, he had noticed that from the beginning, but it hadn’t interested him. It was good, because it meant that he knew what was expected of him, nothing more.

Melkor never had had the patience to train a slave according to his own wishes. He established a few rules and used them as he liked, that was easy and it gave no trouble. Now he wondered how it would be if he allowed the slave to act by his training. But at first he needed to still his fears, the boy almost didn’t dare to breathe without his leave. Melkor gave a laugh. Never before had he wished for his slaves to be less frightened of him, quite the contrary, he had made sure that they feared him. His slave needed to respect him but from now on he would let him feel when he was pleased. He had promised him, after all.

 

Mablung knelt beside Melkor’s throne on the floor. He felt much better and was confident that he could get through this day. He was her for a special cause. Sauron would be punished today because he had almost killed him and Melkor wanted him to watch. He knew of course that his Master didn’t punish Sauron because he had hurt him, the point was that Sauron had dared to break his property – but that didn’t matter.

His Master had been so kind in the last days. He was allowed to sleep in his bed but he didn’t demand anything in return. He held him in his arms at night, nothing more. Mablung wondered how long this change would persist – and what would happen, when it was over. It worried him a little, but he would enjoy it as long as it lasted. “Bring him”, Melkor said, his voice was quiet but Mablung felt that he burned with anger.

Gothmog, when he showed himself in the form of a Balrog, Mablung had difficulty see him as Sinthoras, brought a shackled Sauron in and pushed him roughly to the floor at Melkor’s feet. “Kneel before your King”, he growled. “Do you know what you are accused of, Artano?”, Melkor asked dangerously quiet. “Yes, aranya, but I’m not aware of any wrongdoing. You lent me your slave and I used it”, Sauron answered with his usual arrogance.

“You nearly killed him and if Sinthoras hadn’t saved him, he would be dead now! You really should have more respect for the property of others. Prepare yourself.” Melkor wanted to say more, but what he had to say would only appear strange to his Maiar. “Start, Sinthoras. Don’t expect mercy, Artano.” Mablung started when Sauron’s clothes suddenly burst into flame but the Maia didn’t blink. When the burning rags fell away, his skin was sooty but unhurt, he was fire too. Sinthoras moved back two steps and uncurled a flaming whip with a move of his wrist. It didn’t take long until Sauron screamed under his merciless strikes.

 

Mablung couldn’t look away as Gothmog’s whip hit Sauron’s bloody back again and again. His screams had died away a while ago, he only jerked agonized whenever the lash touched his back. Mablung pitied him. It was foolish, he knew that, Sauron hadn’t had pity with him, but he wasn’t like that. Warily he looked up to Melkor, who watched the events with a stony face, he wouldn’t stop this. Could Maiar die? Mablung didn’t know. “Herdir?”, Mablung whispered so softly that only Melkor would hear and touched his thigh shyly.

When Melkor looked down at him, he continued: “Please, herdir, show mercy. I’m not worth that you lose him.” “Are you sure?” He earned himself an incredulous look. “Yes, herdir.” “Sinthoras, enough”, Melkor called after a moment’s consideration. “Yes, herdir.” Sinthoras bowed, Mablung only blinked and the red-haired Maia with the black eyes that no longer frightened Mablung, stood before Melkor’s throne. He looked tired but when he caught his look, he smiled at him. Mablung lowered his head, it didn’t befit a slave to let his gaze wander.

 

Melkor stood up and walked down to Artano. His Maia lay on the floor and didn’t move. He knew that it wouldn’t take him long to heal, his back wouldn’t scar like the slave’s. Melkor crouched down and pulled Artano’s head back by his hair. “You owe it to my slave that you can keep your body”, he whispered in his ear. “As soon as you are on your feet again, you will go to Tol Sirion and conquer it for me. You will stay there. Handle it well and you may regain my favour.

And never forget: I wouldn’t have shown mercy. If Mablung hadn’t asked for it, you could now get yourself a new body.” Artano’s head hit the floor with a dull sound when he let go of his hair. “Bring him to his cell. He remains there until the lashes are healed.” Sinthoras nodded grimly. Melkor saw that he wouldn’t forgive Artano what he had done to Mablung. It wasn’t really his Maia's concern, but Melkor knew that Sinthoras had a soft spot for slaves.

Melkor turned around and motioned his slave to follow him. It was over for today. As soon as they were alone his slave asked anxiously: “Are you angry with me, herdir?” “Angry? No, just surprised. Why did you help him?” Melkor overlooked the fact, that the slave spoke for the second time today without permission, he didn’t want to beat him, he had suffered enough pain for the time being. “I don’t know, herdir. It’s just... ultimately he did, what he always does. He his loyal to you, herdir, he just didn’t think that you would want me back.”

Melkor looked thoughtfully at him. “Maybe you are right. I still prefer it if I don’t catch sight of him for a while.” He walked to the dresser and opened a leather pouch that lay there, gold glittered in his hand. “Close your eyes, I have a surprise for you.” Melkor waited until his order had been followed, then he stepped behind the slave and laid a necklace around his neck, he couldn’t stop himself from caressing the soft skin. The slave leaned into the touch and sighed softly. Melkor embraced him and kissed his temple. “You can open your eyes now.”

Mablung’s eyes shone when he touched the flower-pendant with his fingers. “Thank you, herdir”, he whispered. “It means very much to me.” Melkor continued to caress him. “How do you intend to prove your gratitude?”, he asked with a smile. He liked to treat him like this, he had seen enough pain today to not wish to hurt his slave. His slave turned slowly around and kissed him. It was the first kiss he gave him of his own accord. “Let me please you with my body, herdir”, he murmured.

Melkor sighed softly and pulled him close. He wanted him so much, he couldn’t be patient any longer. Slowly he caressed the slave's back, felt the new scars. He would be gentle today. His fingers found the way between Mablung’s buttocks, Melkor smiled when he felt oil. He was ready for him, as always. He turned away from the slave, placed his crown on its velvet cushion and spread a cloth over it. It was easier for him to be gentle when the Silmaril didn’t press on his forehead and their light was hid. Melkor leaned his head back and tried to loosen the stiffness in his shoulders, then he turned to his slave again. “Undress me, slave.” The elf’s hands trembled a little when he opened the buttons of his shirt. Melkor caressed his arm. “Don’t be afraid, nethben”, he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with the timeline here as Sauron conquers Tol Sirion much later. Let's be honest: when I wrote this I didn't notice and now it's much too important to cut it out. But hey, it's AU ;-).


	16. Chapter Fifteen

“Herdir?” Mablung lay in his Master’s arms who slapped his backside in answer. He wasn’t allowed to speak but he had a request und it seemed a good moment to him. His Master felt calm and relaxed. “What is it, slave?”, his Master asked after a moment. “I’d like to wear something of you.” He lay in his Master’s bed as he often did these days. It was so different than Before. He was so gentle when he took him. He held back, Mablung could feel it. And he didn’t throw him out of his bed afterwards but let him sleep in his arms.

“What do you mean?” Melkor propped himself up on his elbow and looked enquiringly at him. “I mean something that marks me as your property.” His Master placed his hand on the brand. “You have this.” Mablung savoured the feeling of the stroking fingers that wandered slowly higher. “Yes, but it can only be seen when... you look closer. I want something that shows at first glance whom I belong to.”

Sometimes Mormirion had made him wear a collar. At first Mablung had felt humiliated but by now he knew that it could be a protection. His Master often took him along to the throne room or his study and Mablung was all too aware of the looks his Master’s subjects gave him. He would feel better if everyone could see whom he belonged to. No one would dare to touch the King’s slave.

“I will order a collar to be made for you. I think I would like that.” Melkor kissed the hollow between his collarbones, his tongue tickled his skin. “Let’s sleep.” Mablung hesitated for a moment, he didn’t want him to get angry. “Herdir?” “What else?”, Melkor asked sharply, Mablung felt his ire flare up. “Do you want to be punished, slave?” Mablung licked his lips, that was exactly what he wanted to speak of.

“Yes, herdir”, he whispered, his heart racing. He was about to do something incredibly stupid, but it couldn’t go on as it was, he knew that. Melkor’s desire would only pile up – and also, it wasn’t right that he held back for him, he was only a slave. “You allow me to sleep in your bed, you never did that before, you are so gentle with me. I know, you do that for me and I’m grateful, but I’m your slave. You shouldn’t deny yourself something you want because of me.”

Melkor sighed, his anger gone, he sounded almost sad. “I have treated you very bad in the past, nethben, and Artano injured you seriously. I want to make up for it.” Mablung didn’t know what to think of his Master anymore and that almost frightened him more than his cruelty from Before. As much as it had hurt when he had beaten him without regard for his feelings he had known what to expect, now he didn’t.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful, herdir, but I’m only a slave. You can use me as you please. I feel insecure when I don’t know if you do what you do because you want it, or if you hold back because of me. My only right to exist is to satisfy your desires.” “You are here, because I want you to be.” Melkor kissed his mouth. “You are my slave, yes, and I can treat you as I see fit – and currently I want to be tender.

Don’t be insecure, nethben, I know you were trained by someone and the way you tried to treat me at first, he wasn’t cruel to you. Until now I only used you, but I want it to be different from now on. I want to see what you learned, but I know that you fear me. I want to give you a little time so you won’t wince at my every move, I have time enough. Don’t worry, I take what I want, when I want, where I want. When I’m in the mood for it you will know.” Melkor smiled at him and moved his hand between his legs.

Mablung moaned, never before had his Master touched him like this. He was on the verge of coming when Melkor stopped. “Go to sleep, I think you know where your place is.” Mablung whimpered when his Master dragged his thumb over the wet tip of his arousal. He staggered to his sleeping place on trembling legs, he knew it would take time until he could sleep.

Was this the punishment for his unpermitted words? His Master had never punished him with pleasure, he hadn’t even _rewarded_ him with pleasure. Mablung closed his eyes. His Master’s words gave him hope. He wanted him the way Mormirion had trained him, that was more than he had been until now, more than a thing.

 

Mablung knelt beside his Master, he only listened with half an ear to the conversation he had with one of his Maiar. They talked about force level and armament, he wasn’t interested in this and he had to concentrate on not losing control. He was aroused, his Master had taken him to the brink again and again, he was bathed in sweat. At the moment his Master caressed him behind the ear and although the touch was only light it made him tremble with desire.

He moaned and heard Melkor laugh when the Maia made a comment about wanton slaves. He wanted nothing more than to beg his Master for release but he didn’t dare. He had talked too much yesterday and if this was the punishment for it, he would bear it. When the Maia had left, his Master stood up and locked the door. “Say it, slave.” Mablung sobbed with relief. “Please, herdir, allow me to come.”

His Master strolled over to him and caressed his cheek. “What are you prepared to do for your release?” “Everything, herdir.” Mablung pressed his cheek into Melkor’s palm. “Everything?” His Master laughed. “Everything. Please, herdir... please, I want you.” “Bow over the table, slave.” Mablung obeyed trembling. The words had scared him, for a moment he had heard Sauron speaking.

His Master seemed to have noticed his fear, he caressed his back. “What is it, nethben?” “Nothing, herdir”, Mablung answered hoarsely, he balanced between fear and desire. “But... _he_ said that too.” His Master kissed his nape wordlessly. He caressed him gently for a moment until desire prevailed and Mablung moved towards his hands.

Mablung gasped when something solid connected with his backside. Another slap followed and then a third, because his Master hadn’t ordered him to count, Mablung stopped soon after and let himself go completely. The burning intensified and fanned his lust, he pressed himself into his Master’s hand when he caressed his smarting skin. Then he was in him, took him with hard thrusts and stroked his arousal.

 

Melkor touched his slave’s lips with his wet hand and watched him licking his fingers clean. “Did you like that, slave?”, he asked with a smile. He couldn’t believe how much pleasure it gave him to see his slave writhing with desire, a desire the slaps seemed only to have intensified. On the other hand it maybe wasn’t that strange. He had enjoyed it with his Maiar, that had been long ago but...

“Yes, herdir”, the elf answered quietly. Melkor kissed his neck. “You served me well, nethben. Kneel down beside me, I have to work for a bit.” The paperwork drove him insane but Sinthoras and Artano insisted on everything to be in good order, in this one thing they agreed with each other. He heard that Artano made progress, Tol Sirion would be theirs in short order and then they would get a bit of peace.

Melkor looked down on his slave. He had planned something for him when the way was save, he hadn’t forgotten what he had told him. “Who trained you?”, he asked after a while. The truth was that it was hard to concentrate when his slave kneeled beside him. “A Maia, herdir, his name is Mormirion.”

Melkor was surprised to hear that. Mormirion had the reputation of being a hard man who didn’t keep slaves for long. And why had he troubled himself to train him if he didn’t claim him? That didn’t fit together. Melkor shook his head. He couldn’t ask him, he had gone with Artano. Mormirion had followed Artano to him, Melkor had no illusions whom his loyalty belonged to even though he didn’t see it gladly.

 

Mablung lay exhausted in his Master’s arms and dozed off slowly. Melkor had taken him again before they had laid down to sleep. His backside hurt from the spanking he had received this afternoon, he was a bit sore – but he felt good. He was allowed to sleep in his Master’s arms and he had served him well, he had told him. And... he had enjoyed it when his Master had beaten him. Mablung didn’t know if Melkor had noticed, it had never been like this Before, he had treated him too cruelly.

He didn’t recognise his Master since the incident with Sauron. Before he would never have contemplated that he might mean something to him, now he wondered if he had been wrong. He was so kind, so gentle, almost as if they were a couple. Mablung frowned. What was he thinking? He was only a slave, Melkor would never see anything else in him. He was more friendly but that didn’t change his status. Mablung looked into Melkor’s face, relaxed in sleep.

He shouldn’t feel like this, but he wanted his Master to be proud of him, that he needn’t be ashamed of him. He wanted to make him happy, to not disappoint him. He wanted Melkor to want him, he wanted never to be parted from him again. “Can’t you sleep?” Mablung started when his Master suddenly spoke. He hadn’t seen him open his eyes. “No, herdir.” Mablung lowered his eyes. “Are you well?” “I am, herdir.” He felt much too good...

Mablung sighed happily when Melkor pulled him close and tugged gently on the short hair at his nape. He wanted to ask him if he had liked it but he didn’t want to break the rules. Mablung winced when pain shot through his head like a hot needle, his Master had looked into his mind. “You were wonderful, slave. You are so beautiful when you writhe with pleasure. We should repeat that, what do you think?” “If it pleases you, herdir.” Gladly. Why did he think like this? Why was he so eager to be taken? Or even to be beaten?

Mormirion had always said he should accept it, but what he felt was more than acceptance, he wanted it. He longed for his Master’s touch. Melkor gently nibbled at his earlobe. “I told you, you would notice when I desire you. Try to sleep now, slave.” Mablung was shocked when he finally recognised the feeling he had when he was with Melkor. He had felt like this when he lay in Glorfindel’s arms. Then he had called it love.

Was he in love with his Master? But that couldn’t be. It mustn’t be! He was a prisoner, a slave! Melkor was his enemy and what he did to him was rape. Only that it didn’t feel like rape anymore. There were the beatings and the knowledge that he would be punished if he didn’t obey, of course, but he had enjoyed the spanking today and he wanted to obey. When Melkor took him, it wasn’t so different from how it had been with Glorfindel.

Enough! Mablung barely stopped himself from shaking his head. He was only a thing to his Master, an object to use for his pleasure. At least it had been like this until a few months ago. Now... he was something different. Still a slave, but not a thing, and it felt so good to be called _nethben_. If Melkor truly was his enemy why did he call him his Master in his thoughts? Mablung sobbed, a tear of despair ran down his cheek. Even if he loved Melkor, Melkor would never love him back. He was his slave, nothing more.

He might be kind to him at the moment but that had nothing to do with his feelings. He did it because he knew that Mablung needed it. Maybe he was more than a thing, maybe Mablung even meant something to him, but he still was property and you didn’t fall in love with property. “Why do you lie to me, Mablung?” Mablung gave a start when his Master addressed him with his name. “I don’t lie, herdir! I don’t understand...”

“You say that you are well but now you are crying. What is wrong?” Mablung swallowed, he had to tell him, if he refused he would make him angry. “Do I mean something to you, herdir?” Melkor looked at him dumbfounded. “I fought for your life, I punished Artano because of you. You sleep in my bed. Isn’t that answer enough?”

Mablung didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know. “I know that you want my body, that my submission pleases you. You say, you do this so I come to trust you and so can serve you better. What I mean is: Do I – Mablung – what I am, mean something to you or is it just the obedient slave without a name that you want?” Mablung’s eyes brimmed with tears. It was one thing to think it, something else entirely to voice it. Was he really only that, a body?

 

The slave’s tears stung Melkor. He didn’t want him to cry but he also didn’t want to answer the question, it forced him to think about things he better left buried. His first instinct was to push the slave away, to give him a whipping he would not forget, to break the wary trust he had in him and make sure he would never dare to ask something like that again. But he remembered too well the fear that had stood in his eyes each time he touched him the last twenty years. He had obeyed him, of course he had, but he had feared him.

That’s why he had been so cautious the last few weeks, he had dreaded to see this fear in his slave’s eyes again. Today he had gotten he reward for his patience. He had beaten him and yes, even when he said the words he had realised of whom his slave would think but he hadn’t been frightened of him and he had calmed down again. He had been aroused, even though he had beaten him! And it hadn’t made it less pleasurable for him. Melkor had to admit that he had liked to come with his slave. It had been like this with Sinthoras. He sighed, what should he tell Mablung? How could he give an answer he didn’t know – didn’t want to know – himself?

“You were nothing to me, before I sent you to Sauron, replaceable. I wanted you back, because I realised in your absence what a wonderful slave, how indispensable, you are. I don’t believe that I would have found someone like you again. That is what you mean to me and when I talk to you I don’t see only the slave, I want to know what you think, you as independent being. Beyond that... You belong to me since twenty years but I don’t know you, not good enough to answer your question – and I’m not sure if I want to bother to learn enough about you to do it.”

He could have bitten his tongue when he saw the look in Mablung’s eyes. Why had he said that? He could have let it go with denying him a clear answer. The slave kissed his knuckles submissively. “What have you done to deserve punishment, slave?” Normally he asked to humiliate him even more, today he really didn’t understand but he wouldn’t show that to Mablung. “The question was unseemly, herdir. It is not fitting for me to pester you. Please punish me properly.” His slave’s voice was thick with tears. Melkor hesitated, this was the opportunity to ascertain with a simple punishment that the slave would never ask such questions again.

 

“Stand up”, the order sounded more sharp than he had intended, his slave stumbled to his feet, he was sore and tired. Melkor followed him more slowly, he struggled with himself. “Lift your head.” The slave had to know now, how he intended to punish him, he saw his trembling, Melkor felt uneasy but he pushed his doubts aside. He raised his hand and slapped his cheek hard. Mablung’s head jerked to the side, he gasped, a soft whimper escaped him when Melkor slapped him again, the other cheek this time.

Melkor had never felt so much hesitancy to beat another. Ere he could move, Mablung knelt before him and lifted his hand to his lips. “Thank you, herdir. Please forgive me.” Melkor pulled his hand back and wanted to caress his cheek – he saw clearly how the slave cringed before his fingers touched the sore skin. His heart clenched. He was so stupid. With a slap he had rendered the last weeks void. And what were a few weeks of gentleness against twenty years of abuse and contempt.

Melkor felt tears coming to his eyes and running over his cheeks. “Forgive me”, he murmured in Valarin, he was too proud to admit a mistake to his slave. He pulled Mablung to his feet and embraced him tightly. The elf was tense and trembled. Did he fear it wasn’t over? ‘What have I done? I wanted to take away his fear and not to amplify it!’ He wished to take back the punishment... He could take it back! Mablung was just an elf, he could make him forget.

“Look at me”, he whispered and touched his temples tenderly. “Sleep, Mablung.” Mablung slumped in his arms and he laid him on his bed, covering him with his blanket. Melkor sat down on the edge of the bed and started to sing. He couldn’t take back the slaps but he could make him forget what he had done – what he had said. This night would be a lesson to him.

Why did he do this? He pushed the question, and all the others that lurked in his subconscious, away. He had vowed to never let anything but hate into his heart again. Mablung was a slave, a special slave and it was worth to abandon old habits for him, but he was still a slave. He felt nothing for him.

 

Mablung frantically tried to remember the last night. He had asked his Master if he meant something to him. His Master had avoided the question, hadn’t said yes but neither had he said no. And then... he couldn’t remember. It was as if his Master had stopped speaking mid-sentence. ‘Did I fall asleep?’ Mablung frowned. It felt as if there had been something more but he couldn’t grasp it. His cheeks hurt as if his Master had slapped him. How couldn’t he remember that?

He straightened himself when the door opened, he knelt on the floor beside the bed like every day when his Master didn’t take him with him. His Master hadn’t exactly ordered him to do it, he only said: “Wait for me, slave.” But for Mablung that entailed to kneel here until he was needed. His legs had gotten used to it a long time ago. “Good afternoon, Mablung. How are you?” Mablung looked up surprised. What did Sinthoras do here?

“I’m fine, herdir. Thank you. Can I help you?” “Does Melkor treat you well?” Mablung smiled. It felt good to know that someone cared for him, although he didn’t understand why the Maia did. He wasn’t his slave. “He is very kind, herdir. He treats me well.” Suddenly he had the desire to repeat the question he had asked his Master yesterday. Sinthoras knew Melkor well. “May I ask a question, herdir?” “What do you want to know, Mablung?” Sinthoras nodded in encouragement. “Do you think I mean something to him?”

“Why do you ask?” The Maia’s eyes bore into his. Mablung squirmed, he didn’t want to lie to him, neither did he want him to know a truth he wasn’t sure of himself. “He was so cruel before... now he is gentle, I can’t figure him out, herdir. I want him to be happy, not just because I’m his slave and my wellbeing depends on his mood. It’s...” Mablung lowered his head. “He is so beautiful when he smiles”, he continued in a whisper. “If he is happy, I’m too, regardless of what it costs me.”

Sinthoras blinked surprised. Could the slave... no, that was impossible. “Melkor lets no one see into his heart, he keeps everyone at distance – even me. But you mean very much to him, I could see when you were unconscious and we didn’t know if you would survive. You mean something to him – you, not only your body, not only the slave, you as a whole. I don’t know what he would have done if you had died. Maybe you don’t see it, but you are closer to him than any other slave he ever had – or many of his servants. Be proud of it, you somehow managed to get through his hard shell, but it is enough now.”

Sinthoras crouched down in front of him, his face was serious. “Don’t go further, Mablung, or you'll go too far. It would be your death. Be happy with what he is ready to give and don’t corner him. Be glad of every token of affection he gives you. It’s not like Melkor to show his feelings.” He wouldn’t tell him, but Sinthoras was sure that someone had hurt Melkor, probably one of the Valar. He hid behind his power because he feared to be hurt again.

Mablung nodded. “I understand. Thank you, herdir, you made me happy. What more can I hope for than to truly mean something to him?” He bent forward to kiss Sinthoras as thanks. The Maia held him back, gentle but determined. “No, Mablung. You are his and I won’t touch you without his consent.” “Forgive me, herdir.” Mablung looked down embarrassed. “I only wanted to thank you.”

Sinthoras smiled forgivingly. “I know, but be careful. Melkor can be very jealous. It wouldn’t be good for both of us if he saw us kissing. I already overstep with coming here without his explicit permission.” “Why then are you doing it?” Sinthoras gently pushed a strand of hair behind Mablung's ear. “Because I like you and because I see that you are good for Melkor. I don’t want you to be in pain.” He stood up and turned to go. He hoped, Melkor wouldn’t kill Mablung in a fit of rage one day.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Melkor pushed a damp strand of hair behind his ear and looked at his work. At first he had wanted to ask one of the smiths to forge the collar for Mablung but then he had recalled the slaves words: ‘I’d like to wear something of you.’ And the wish had risen in him to give the slave something that was _made_ by him. He wasn’t a very good smith but he had decided that it was worth a try. Now a collar and shackles lay before him, made of true-silver and engraved with his name. He would put them on his slave today and enjoy the view.

Melkor shivered blissfully. Why hadn’t he had the idea himself? The slave was an ever present temptation, as soon as he saw him, he wanted to push him against the next wall and take him. The fact that the slave would allow it willingly made the thought all the more arousing. Melkor packed the bonds carefully and went home.

The slave waited on his knees, as always, his gaze moved anxiously to the wooden box that Melkor carried. He was ready for everything. Melkor smiled gently and pulled him into a warm embrace. “Ready a bath for me”, he ordered. The slave bowed low and went into the bathroom. Melkor laid the box aside and ate. Just when he finished the slave came back. He knelt beside him silently and waited for orders. “You can eat while I bathe, when I come back, I want you to lie on the bed.” Melkor stood up and left the slave. He looked forward to the bath – and what would happen after it.

 

Mablung was torn between curiosity and fear. Usually, when Melkor brought something home it meant pain for him. He didn’t want to know what was in this box – and at the same time he was drawn to it. Should he dare to open it? No! Melkor would beat him black and blue if he noticed that he rummaged in his things. How did he even get that idea? He ate hurriedly what Melkor had left him – although “left” maybe was the wrong word. It was always enough for Mablung to feel sated and that surely wasn’t a coincidence.

He knelt on the bed, head on the mattress and hands laced at the neck, when Melkor came back. “Turn around, slave”, Melkor said. “Lie on your back.” Mablung obeyed surprised, his gaze focused on the ceiling. The mattress dipped when his Master laid something beside him. The box, Mablung supposed, he knew better than to look. A lock clicked softly. “You asked me for something, slave. Do you remember?” “Yes, herdir”, Mablung whispered breathlessly.

His Master took his hand and closed a silver cuff around his wrist. Mablung allowed him to fix it to a ring on the bedpost, he wasn’t scared of being bound. He savoured his Master’s touch, his fingers on his skin, when he continued with his other wrist. His Master made him a wonderful present. Mablung shivered and moved into the touch when his Master caressed his arms from wrist to shoulder and grazed his sides with his nails.

His Master moved lower and closed another pair of cuffs around his ankles that where likewise fixed to the bed. Mablung lay with spread limbs, almost unable to move, his heart fluttered. It wasn’t fear but... he didn’t know what to expect. His Master smiled at him and continued his caresses. “My actual present”, he said after a while and lifted a metal collar from the box. Mablung smiled when he saw the engraving. No one would doubt now whom he belonged to.

The lock clicked into place and Mablung swallowed experimentally, the weight was unfamiliar. “Is it too tight?” His Master scrutinized his creation. “No, herdir. It feels wonderful. Thank you.” His Master grinned. “You can thank me, when I’m finished with you.” He gave him a hungry kiss. Mablung moaned unrestrained and threw back his head when Melkor bit his nipple and wrapped his hand around him. A mixture of pain and arousal coursed through his body.

His Master continued to caress him, with pain and gentleness and Mablung moved into the touch as far as his bonds would let him. He tensed, his eyes wide open when his Master’s lips closed around his arousal. That wasn’t right, no Master did this for a slave! “Relax, slave. This is right.” His Master caressed his stomach. “But...” “No ‘buts’, slave. Enjoy it, you won’t get this pleasure again anytime soon.” Mablung closed his eyes, and surrendered to his Master’s skilful touches. It was a dream. For a moment he wondered why Melkor was so good at this, he surely didn’t do it often, but he pushed the question away – and then he didn’t think at all.

 

He snuggled against his Master when he laid down beside him. Melkor had unfastened the cuffs form the bed posts but hadn’t taken them off and that was how Mablung wanted it. “That was wonderful, herdir”, he murmured sleepily. “Thank you.” Melkor laughed softly. “I’m glad that you had fun. How do you like my marks?” Mablung looked at his wrist, the cuff hugged his skin, it fit perfectly. The engravings glinted in the candlelight.

A warm feeling spread in his chest. He considered it a token of affection that his Master marked him as his own. He had to mean something to him if he placed value on showing that he was his slave. “They are very beautiful. It is an honour to wear them.” His Master made a sound that could only be described as purr. “Who has taught you to talk like this?” “You know that Herdir Mormirion has trained me. He is accountable for how I act, but I mean it. I’m proud to wear your marks.”

His Master petted his hair. “It’s fine, slave.” He was quiet for a moment, then his Master continued: “I want to ask you for something.” He pinched one of his nipples. “I want to pierce your nipples.” Mablung shuddered, that was going to be painful, but there was only one proper answer – and he had survived much worse. “Yes, herdir. I would never defy you.” He knew, after all, what would await him if he did. Why did he even ask? “I know, but I want to be sure that you won’t struggle.” “I won’t, herdir.” ‘I would do everything for you’, he continued in his mind, knowing that his Master wouldn’t believe him.

 

It was hot and stuffy in the kitchen, Sinthoras wiped steam and sweat from his face. He searched for the slave who had tended to Mablung, she had to be here somewhere. Nelwen was her name, he knew as much and after a bit of asking he had found out that she worked in the kitchen. Now that Mablung, and with him Melkor, felt better, he had time to search for her. The slaves looked startled at him and gave him a wide berth, his presence meant something bad no doubt.

Sinthoras sighed and stopped the next woman who tried to sneak around him. “Can you tell me, where Nelwen is?” “Back there...” She pointed with a trembling finger. “I want to speak with you, Nelwen.” She looked up from the meal she prepared. “How can I help you, herdir?”, her voice trembled. “Is something wrong with Mablung?” “No, it’s not about him...” He was interrupted by a small girl, she was maybe four years old. “Nana, look what Mora gave me!”

She stopped short when she noticed Sinthoras. She looked at him with big eyes and asked: “Who are you? And why do your eyes look so strange, Russa?” Sinthoras was surprised of the way she talked to him but before he could answer her, Nelwen called horrified: “Silwen! I told you not to talk like this to the Masters. Please, herdir”, she said to Sinthoras, “be lenient. She is only a child and doesn’t know what she says. Please don’t punish her.”

Sinthoras laid a finger on her lips to silence her. “It would be foolish and cruel to blame a little child for  something it doesn’t understand”, he answered gently. He crouched down and looked at the little girl. “Silwen is your name?”, he asked her. “I’m Sinthoras, but you can call me Russa if you want to." He didn't mind being called 'red-haired'. "My eyes are as they are, because I like them that way. I’d like to speak with your mother, Silwen, can you leave us? You get her back in a moment.”

Silwen nodded. “Bye, Russa”, she called out to him over her shoulder. “Who is her father?” “I don’t know.” Nelwen’s voice was thick with emotion. “There were so many. I only know that it has to be someone of your people.” “I thought so. That she has maia-blood, I mean.” “You were interrupted, herdir, but I can imagine why you are here. Please, herdir, give me a day, I need to find someone who will look after here while I’m with you.” Sinthoras blinked confused then he laughed when he realised what she supposed.

“That’s not why I’m here. I assure you, Nelwen, I prefer males. No, I’m here because of Melkor’s reward. You probably think you can’t take him up on it. You are frightened of him and I understand that. If you don’t dare to come to him, ask for me. I’ll take care of it. And if you have other problems, you can come to me likewise.” “Why, herdir? Why are you so kind to me?” He could feel Nelwen’s astonishment clearly. “You saved Mablung and it has to be hard for you with the little girl. I want to help you. I like your daughter.”

Melkor stood at the window and looked out on the plain. Over Angband lay a dark cloud as always, the orcs couldn’t bear the sun’s light well, but in the east he could see a strip of blue sky. “Wake up, slave, it’s morning”, he said gently and waited for Mablung to awaken. When he sat up he pushed a small pile of clothes into his arms, he would need them. Were he wanted to go with him he couldn’t run around naked.

“Dress”, he ordered and hid a smile when the slave only blinked at him dumbfounded. “What?”, he growled. He hadn’t intended to sound angry but Mablung turned ashen and dressed hastily. “Follow me”, Melkor said after the elf was clothed, he looked nervous surely he didn’t know what to make of his demeanour. Melkor lead him through Angband’s hallways far down and into a sheltered vale were in the short summers the grass grew tall. Mórhuins stable.

Melkor called the Maia who, for whatever reason, preferred the shape of a horse. ‘Are you willing to carry me and the elf, my friend.’ ‘Always, herdir. Where do you want to go?’ ‘The Ered Luin.’ Melkor patted his black coat, he felt his joy, too seldom did he find the time to ride him. It was a risk, Sinthoras had advised him against it, but he wanted to make Mablung this gift. A few days in the mountains, he would like it.

The Ered Wethrin would have been nearer but they lay on the border to Hithlum and still teemed with Noldor. Melkor helped the elf on Mórhuins back and mounted behind him. They travelled the first miles under the earth, through a tunnel that brought them far into the plain. The guards bowed respectfully when he came through, most of these orcs had never seen him, but they recognized their Master.

Melkor smiled, that was what he had always wanted. His own realm, were he had to explain to no one, with subjects who showed him respect. He could feel the slave’s curiosity but he didn’t dare to ask. Good, he wanted it to be a surprise. Mórhuin’s step became faster when they reached the grass covered plain. Melkor felt how in the bright sunlight all that troubled him was wiped away. He had left the Silmaril in the fortress, no headache plagued him and although his burned palm hurt as always it was only a small discomfort.

 

Mablung felt that his Master was in high spirits and didn’t want to anger him by asking where they went but he nearly burst with curiosity. He’d never thought he would leave Angband again, much less in Melkor’s company... He raised his face to the light in the sky that shone with warmth, so pure and clear as it was never possible in Angband. The fast pace of the horse that wasn’t a horse ate the miles.

Mablung felt his muscles tire, he wasn’t used to riding anymore. What was their destination? He leaned against his Master’s chest and enjoyed the feel of his thighs moving against his. His Master’s hand pushed under his shirt and caressed his belly, Mablung shivered. Melkor kissed his neck and moved his hand between his legs. “You are a trial to my self control, slave”, he growled into his ear. Mablung gasped when his fingers closed hard around his thigh, he could feel Melkor’s arousal.

They stopped when evening came. Mablung slid stiffly off the horse, his knees felt weak. “Come here!” Melkor pulled him close and kissed him hard. “How dare you be so outrageously desirable?” What could he answer to that? Melkor pushed him to the ground and pulled down his trousers. Mablung moaned when he entered him, he was aroused too. “I’m sorry, herdir”, he gasped although he wasn’t. It felt so good.

Afterwards they lay on their backs, surrounded by the smell of crushed grass and the chirp of crickets, and looked into the darkening sky. Mablung’s muscles twitched and trembled with exhaustion but in this moment he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Melkor slowly pulled his arm out from under his head. “Are you hungry, nethben.” “Yes, herdir.” Mablung sat up and saw with surprise how Melkor staggered to the bag with their food that he had dropped. It seemed, his Master wasn’t used to riding, too.

The horse had vanished but Mablung was sure it would come back on Melkor’s command. They ate in silence while it became night and the stars lighted up. Mablung took a swallow from their water bottle and realized suddenly what this could mean. He was out of Angband and alone with Melkor. If he waited tonight for his Master to sleep, maybe he could creep away. “Don’t even think about it.” Mablung winced, his Master had caught him.

Melkor gripped his chin and forced him to look at him. The fire in his eyes burned Mablung but he wasn’t as angry as he had feared. “Don’t force me to punish you for trying to escape. That would be... unlovely for me and possibly deadly for you. I would overtake you, you are on foot and my horse doesn’t tire. This voyage is a gift for you, nethben, enjoy it and don’t destroy it with such thoughts.” Mablung nodded silently, he had a lump in his throat. A gift... “Good.” Melkor caressed his cheek. “Sleep now, nethben.” Mablung closed his eyes obediently, his head lay on his Master’s chest. What a stupid thought. His Master was good to him, Mablung loved him.

 

They reached the foothills of the mountains two days later. “I thought, you might want to spend a few days in the mountains agin and discover at least a part of this word as you wanted.” Mablung stared at him open-mouthed, he was on the verge of tears. “Thank you, herdir. Thank you so much. You are so kind to me.” “I only reward your obedience, nethben”, Melkor replied. “Shall we go?” Mablung had already started to walk before he had finished.

“I will call you when we want to go back”, Melkor told Mórhuin and hurried to follow Mablung. Catching up to him turned out to be unexpectedly hard although the elf carried their supplies. He had to climb over a few rocks to follow him and admired his surefootedness, he only caught up when Mablung stopped at a spring that was surrounded by trees. Birds sang in the branches and Mablung knelt at the water to drink.

“Don’t run away”, Melkor joked good-humouredly, he would never have admitted it but it did him good to get out of Angband. His slave winced and looked at him with frightened eyes. “That wasn’t my intent, herdir, please believe me. I...” Melkor laid a finger on his lips. “It’s fine. I didn’t want to startle you. I didn’t mean it.” He felt sorry for frightening him. Of course he had taken him seriously after he had threatened him just two days ago.

“Isn’t it beautiful, herdir?”, Mablung whispered, his eyes shining and Melkor felt a strange thing in his heart. ‘Why am I so glad that he is happy?’ He pushed the thought away hastily, he didn’t want to think about it although he undertook this journey to make him happy. They walked on uphill. Eventually Mablung started to speak, showed him things he wouldn’t have seen otherwise and told him of his life. Mablung seemed to have forgotten to whom he spoke.

Melkor didn’t intend to remind him, it pleased him to see Mablung so unburdened. To see Mablung, not the slave they had made of him. When dusk came, they reached a big mountain meadow that lay in the shadow of two peaks and set up camp near a lake. Mablung started a fire with the dry wood of the mountain pines that soon spread an aromatic smell and they ate from their provisions.

Melkor looked into the flames, the vastness of the mountains spoke to him, scraped against thoughts and questions he had locked away in his mind. What if he just went away and never looked back? He shook his head. It hadn’t been a good idea to come here. He didn’t want to think about these things, but he had wanted to make his slave happy, he still wanted to.

Melkor lifted his head and barely caught the strange look Mablung had given him. Sometimes he had the feeling the slave knew what he thought. That was nonsense, of course. “Excuse me for a moment.” Melkor stood up hastily and walked to the lake. The cool water washed the sweat off his face and the uncomfortable thoughts out of his head. It was nonsense, he was the Lord of Angband and after he had subdued these irritating Noldor he would be the Master of the World.

When he came back to the fire, his slave knelt naked before the fire, his belt lay on his lifted palms. His shoulders trembled, Melkor was sure that he cried. He laid his hand gently on his head. “Why do you think that you deserve punishment?”, he asked with faltering voice. Just a moment before he had been so cheerful and happy and he had relished to see it. Nothing could be farther from his mind than to punish him.

“I have been disrespectful, herdir. You must think that I don’t deserve your gift. Only a hard punishment can make good my transgression. Please...” He sobbed. “I’m sorry.” Melkor felt a tear run down his cheek, he wiped it away aggressively. Mablung's behaviour distressed him. It was undoubtedly true what he said. He had been disrespectful but that had been what Melkor wanted. He crouched down and took the belt from his hands before he lifted his chin. The elf’s eyes shone with tears.

“Do you really think I would want to punish you? You forgot for a short while what you are because you were happy and that was what I hoped to accomplish with this journey. I wanted to make you happy, I wanted to see you smile and I wanted to know you better. And I could do so only because you forgot that you are a slave. You have done nothing wrong. I’m very fond of you, my wonderful slave.” He only whispered the last words and kissed the astounded Mablung gently.

The slave turned as soft as wax under his hands. Melkor felt pure happiness rush through him. He was the Lord of Angband but that didn’t mean that his slave couldn’t mean something to him. A desire he hadn’t felt a long time surged up in him. “Swear that you will never tell anyone what I’m going to do now”, he murmured and pushed Mablung to his back. “I swear, herdir.” Mablungs voice trembled, surely he wondered what terrible thing he had in mind.

Melkor smiled sheepishly, he didn’t know where this desire came from so suddenly. He kissed the elf slowly, caressed him until his arousal rubbed against his belly. Melkor straddled him and closed his hand around both of them. Mablung moaned breathlessly. Melkor looked down at him with half-closed eyes, he was so beautiful. He pushed his doubts far away. There was no place for doubts. He did this because he wanted to and hadn’t he always done what he wanted? He never cared what others thought of him.

“Herdir?” Mablung’s expression was troubled, he couldn’t understand his mood. “Not a word”, Melkor said. He gritted his teeth and looked with watering eyes into the sky when the elf’s arousal stretched him. He wouldn’t scream, not in front of his slave, but fact was that it had been long and it damned well hurt. Mablung uttered a startled noise that turned to a moan when Melkor moved his hips.

He stared at him wide-eyed but he had told him to shut up and he would obey, Melkor knew that. He was glad for it, he didn’t care for questions now. He smiled with trembling lips and forced himself into a slow rhythm. Mablung threw his head back, his hands caressed his thighs, up and down, again and again. It was that touch that made Melkor relax at last. The pain lessened and made way for pleasure.

He bent forward and kissed his slave thoroughly. His thoughts flew away against his will, back in time. It were the waves of another lake he heard and the thrusts of his brother he felt. In another time, when everything had been fine between them, before they had cast him out. He forced the memory down. Melkor knew he would come soon and Mablung had his fingers buried in the grass. The moonlight glinted on his collar and reminded Melkor that he had to order him.

“Come”, he rasped. Mablung bucked his hips, a low moan on his lips and Melkor came on his belly. He laid down trembling beside the elf and pulled him close. He slowly rubbed his cum into Mablung’s skin before the elf could come up with the idea of licking it up, he didn’t want this tonight. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “Talk to me, Mablung”, he murmured. “Tell me, what you think.” He didn’t want to be left alone with his memories.

“Thank you, herdir”, Mablung whispered, his head rested shyly on Melkor’s shoulder. “I’m so happy, herdir. I feel so loved. Well, maybe _loved_ is not the right word. I know, you don’t love your slave, but I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe _wanted_ or _to be worth something_ but that doesn’t nail it. I... I’m so glad that you brought me here. To lie here with you and share _this_...” He smiled drowsily “I would give my freedom away for it anytime.”

Melkor watched him as his lids became heavy and he finally fell asleep – and then the tears finally came. His heart burned, it felt as if it would crack. “Oh, Manwe”, he whispered and sobbed loudly, tears ran down his cheeks. If only he could be with him – or if at least the elf meant his words. He couldn’t believe him. He was a Noldo, he hated him, he just hid it very well and he said what he thought he wanted to hear. He was a slave, he wanted to please him, to not provoke his wrath.

“Mablung”, he whispered his name, again and again. He never had noticed how beautiful it sounded. Before he fell asleep, he felt a hand in his hair that caressed him shyly and in his heart the sun came up after deep night. He felt as loved in this moment as Mablung had. He didn’t remember the touch the next morning but the happiness remained and every time he looked at Mablung his heart sang, even when they were back in Angband and everything ran its usual course. Melkor sometimes asked himself what it was he felt, how it had come to this, but he didn’t allow himself to look closer. He feared it, because he knew the answer would change his live forever.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_157 F.A._

Mo moaned when someone knocked at his door and woke him from sleep, a real sleep. His body hurt, he would have needed much more rest after last night. He had to tuck the blanked carefully from his blood-encrusted back before he could get up. Since they had arrived at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Saurons mood had worsened every day. His head started to spin when he stood up. It knocked again.

“I’m coming”, he murmured and wrapped a bathrobe around his shoulders to not be completely naked. A breathless messenger bowed before him. “The King wants to see you. Set out immediately and ride as fast as you can.” Mo groaned silently. He wasn’t sure if he could mount a horse in his condition, but he hadn’t a choice.

“Do you have a written order? My commander will want to see it.” The messenger gave him a rolled-up parchment, Mo controlled the content and seal and nodded. “You can go.” He closed the door behind the messenger and flopped down on the bed. He buried his face in his hands to banish the black dots that danced in front of his eyes. He felt terrible. He could count himself lucky if he didn’t fall off his horse on the way! Sighing he put on his uniform and went to talk to Sauron.

 

“You aren’t going.” Mo stared at Sauron. “What? Do you want me to disobey a direct order of our Master?” “I need you here. I’ll send a messenger that I can’t do without you at the moment. Who else should warm my bed?” Sauron smiled lewdly. Mo gritted his teeth. If he allowed this, Melkor’s wrath would fall on him and he would never get away from Sauron.

“Fuck you, Artano! I won’t put up with this any longer.” He snatched up Melkor’s order and left the room. He started to run. Sauron was capable of hunting him down and his revenge would be terrible. Mo started to question his actions, he would have to come back eventually. He was a fool! But he couldn’t have acted otherwise, there wasn’t an easy way. He saddled his horse swiftly and rode north.

 

~*~*~

 

His Master’s hair shone in the firelight. Mablung lay beside him on the bed and dragged his fingers absentmindedly through the silky black strands. He liked Melkor’s hair, it was straight and heavy and fell down to his hip. It was a shame that he wore it tied back when he was at court, but it made him happy at the same time. Melkor showed him, a slave, something that not many were allowed to see.

“What are you doing there?” Mablung tensed when his Master addressed him, he had thought him to be asleep. “I... nothing, herdir.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry”, he added in a whisper. “No, you don't need to, nethben.” His Master’s voice was quiet and soft – velvety. He reached back and caressed Mablungs thigh. “Come closer – and don’t stop, that feels good.”

Mablung skidded closer until his chest touched his Master’s back and slid his hand back into his hair. His fingertips moved over Melkor’s scalp with light pressure. He knew that his Master was often plagued with headaches, maybe this could ease them. His Master shivered and sighed blissfully. “Tell me something, nethben.”

Mablung blinked. “What do you want me to tell you, herdir?”, he asked bewildered. His Master rarely allowed him to speak freely but it didn’t bother him. He had feared for a time that this change in Melkor’s treatment of him, that had started after Sauron had brought him so near to death, could not be permanent, but it was like this so long already. He couldn’t ask for more and he didn’t want more. He was content.

“What are you thinking about?” Mablung hesitated but decided to tell him the truth. “I just felt very close to you, herdir. You make me feel like I’m welcome here, like I’m more than something to be used and then forgotten until the next time. It is more than I ever dared hope for. I’m happy, herdir.”

His Master turned around and embraced him. “I’m glad that you are well. I had an unhappy slave for twenty years and I like you better as you are now.” He kissed him gently. Mablung opened his mouth and sucked on his Master’s lower lip. Yes, he was happy. He was allowed to be near his beloved and even though he could never tell him, they were together.

His Master rolled on top of him and gripped his wrists. Mablung shivered with pleasure. He liked it, when his Master showed him the power he had over him so openly. Especially after he had allowed him a certain freedom with him just before. His Master kissed him again, much more roughly this time, more passionate.

“I want to feel your lips.” Melkor sat up on Mablung’s chest and immobilised his arms with his knees. “Please me, slave.” Mablung lifted his head and opened his mouth. His neck started to hurt after a short while, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to lift his head up much longer, but he forced himself to continue. He wanted his Master to be pleased with him.

It was an intoxicating feeling to be at his mercy. He was always, of course, but it had become so normal for him to be a slave that he didn’t notice it any more, especially because his Master held himself back. To now lie under him, nearly unable to move, woke something in him. Mablung whimpered silently when he felt his arousal grow.

After a while his Master started to move, Mablung relaxed completely and allowed him to use him as he wished. He shivered with want when his Master came deep in his mouth. His Master laid down beside him and caressed his head, Mablung closed his eyes and enjoyed the gentleness.

He sucked in his breath startled when a hand closed around his arousal. He didn’t want his Master to notice how much he liked it. Did he really like it to be treated like this? Did he enjoy it to be humiliated by his Master? Mablung had long accepted that the touch of another man aroused him, if he wanted it or not, he had even learned to accept that pain could be pleasurable, but this was something different.

Why did he like to be a slave? Mablung sighed and smiled crookedly. Well, he had fallen in love with his Master, why shouldn’t he like what he did to him? Glorfindel had, an age ago it seemed to him, told him to not be afraid to be as he was. ‘If you can’t accept yourself, how can you expect others to do it?’ He could only try. Mablung laughed desperately. If Glorfindel could see him now, he would think him mad.

“What is so funny?” Mablung winced and searched for words, he couldn’t tell him the truth. “It’s nothing, herdir.” Mablung hoped that Melkor wouldn’t ask further. “You are lying. Are you laughing at me, slave?” His Master’s voice got a dangerous undertone. “No, herdir. I would never laugh at you!” If he couldn’t convince him, it would cost him dearly.

Melkor gripped his chin and forced him to look into his eyes. Mablung gritted his teeth when pain shot through his body. “I don’t like you to have secrets, slave”, his Master growled. “Tell me, why you laughed.” “Please, herdir.” Mablung whimpered. “Tell me the truth!” Melkor’s voice was steely, Mablung knew that he couldn’t defy him any longer.

He sobbed quietly. “I liked it”, he whispered. “That’s why I laughed, because it is so crazy. I like it, when you show me the power you have over me.” His Master released him from his gaze. “You liked it?” His Master sounded amazed. “Yes, herdir.” Mablung cheeks felt hot. “And pain arouses me, too”, he added. It was out now, he could as well tell him everything. “Not too much, but a little.”

“How interesting...” Melkor laughed amused and nibbled at Mablung’s jaw. “Your little secret is in good hands, slave.” Mablung gave a resigned sigh. His Master would know how to use this knowledge to his advantage. “What’s the matter?” His Master feigned anger, Mablung knew him well enough by now to notice when he didn’t mean it.

“Do you think I care about it? Did I care before if you are aroused? You forget your place, slave.” “Yes, herdir”, Mablung answered and because he sensed that his Master was in a good mood again, he added: “You have to remind your slave, where his place is.”

Melkor’s eyebrow twitched up. “Daring, slave”, he whispered into his ear. “I’ll think up something appropriate for you.” In the past Mablung would have been frightened, but he felt that his Master wasn’t angry – to the contrary, Mablung’s words had pleased him. Daring, indeed, but it had been the right thing to say, although his heart beat fast.

 

Melkor stood in his dungeon. He hadn’t used it for three years, not since Artano had nearly killed Mablung. He had wanted to give him time, it didn’t bother him to have _only_ sex with him. Now and then he had spanked him or used him like yesterday but that was nothing compared to what he had done to him before.

Melkor bent down and dragged a chest from between the wardrobe with the whips and the rack. He wiped the dust from the metal fittings. He hadn’t opened the chest in years. He hadn’t cared for the feelings of his slaves, he had beat and used them as he wished, but before the slaves he had had sex with his Maiar and he had taught them to feel pleasure from pain.

The chest was filled with things, you only needed if your partner felt pleasure. Partner? Melkor shook his head smiling Hardly. But the fact remained that his slave liked to be a slave. He gripped one of the chest’s handles and pulled it into his sleeping room. His slave still knelt beside the table where he had left him after the breakfast but he came when he called him.

His eyes were trained warily on the heavy wooden chest. “I’m going to put you in your place when I come home this evening, my cheeky, wanton slave. Clean the things in the chest.” He kissed him farewell and left with a pleasant feeling in his belly. He looked forward to this evening.

 

Mablung gulped when he lifted the lid. What had he been thinking last night? He should know better than to wake sleeping dragons. On the other hand... he breathed in deeply and took out one of the toys. Mablung’s lips twitched. Toys, that’s what Mormirion had called them. He would serve his Master well, he knew how to handle these things.

Melkor hadn’t wanted him like this for such a long time, he was glad that he could show him finally that he was a good slave. Mablung cleaned a phallus of dark, smooth wood with a wet cloth. It wasn’t the only one in his Master’s collection. The night was going to be long. Mablung wondered, where his Master had hid the chest, he had never seen it, let alone know its contents.

His Master hadn’t allowed his slave pleasure, he hadn’t cared. That he seemed to care now... Mablung didn’t know if he should welcome or worry about it. It would make it easier but it was also dangerous. Melkor was dangerous. Mablung knew how fast he got angry and then he burned everyone in his reach with his wrath.

To be so close to him as he had got... he needed to be careful. He was only a slave, Melkor might hold back with his Maiar but Mablung would feel all his wrath if someone angered him. But still, he loved his Master, he wanted to stay with him.

 

~*~*~

 

Mo sighed relieved when he rode through Angband’s gates. He was starved because he had left without provisions, and very tired. He had ridden as fast as if someone was after him, he wasn’t sure if that was the case. He had left everything he hadn’t worn, even his flutes. He wouldn’t have gotten away from Sauron otherwise.

His knees buckled when he dismounted, he barely could steady himself by gripping the saddle. He felt dizzy, his shirt stuck to his back, every movement pulled on the scabbed wounds. He squared is shoulders and pulled himself together. “Care for my horse”, he ordered the slave who had hurried to meet him. The elf bowed low and took the reins.

Mo walked to the inner door, the guard let him through. He was a Maia and wore Melkor’s uniform, the orcs knew better than to question him. Mo wasn’t sure who he should approach. Maybe it would be best to talk to Sinthoras. The way he looked he couldn’t show up in the throne room.

Mo knew where Sinthoras’ office was, he nearly got lost regardless. Angband was huge and convoluted, he had heard of orcs that had been found starved in a remote tunnel, but he didn’t know if that was really true. Mo knocked and entered on Sinthoras’ call. “Mo, good to see you. How are you?” “I’ve had better days.” Mo swayed, he was exhausted. “Take a seat.”

Sinthoras scrutinized him anxiously. “You look terrible.” Mo shrugged and ignored the unspoken question. “I just need something to eat and fresh clothes. Melkor has asked for me.” Sinthoras nodded. “I know, your rooms are ready. Do you want me to take you there?” Mo nodded, he wanted to get into a tub with hot water and relax his sore muscles. “Then follow me.”

“And Melkor?” “I’m going to tell him that you arrived but I’m sure that he will call for you tomorrow at the earliest. You can rest today.” “Thank you.” Mo stumbled after Sinthoras, too tired to take in where they went. “This is your room for the time that you are here.” Sinthoras unlocked the door and gave the key to him. “I’ll see to it that a fresh uniform is brought for you and other clothes if you want.” “Both, thank you.”

“I noticed that you arrived without baggage. Why?” He had dreaded this question and Sinthoras looked so urgently at him that he couldn’t evade him. “Take a seat.” It felt strange to offer him a seat in a room that he didn’t yet consider as his own but what he had to tell him was better discussed sitting.

“Well?” “Sauron didn’t want to let me go. I ran, I couldn’t anger Aranya, and couldn’t take anything.” Mo sighed. “I left so hurriedly that I didn’t even take my flutes.” Sinthoras looked as if he felt that there was more, but Mo didn’t want to tell.

“I’ll leave you now”, Sinthoras said finally. “You are hungry, you said? I’ll send you a slave with food and fresh clothes.” Mo leaned back his head and breathed deeply when Sinthoras had left. He just wanted to close his eyes for a moment, before he drew a bath...

 

Mo woke from the smell of food and the sounds the slave made while he set the table. Mo rubbed his eyes and sat up, his neck hurt from the awkward position, he couldn’t have been asleep for long. The slave had kindled a fire and lighted the candles. When Mo stood up, the slave prostrated himself before him, forehead pressed to the floor.

Mo’s heart constricted when he saw the welts on the slave’s skin, his own back hurt with every move. He hurried to turn away and seated himself at the table. “Have you brought clothes for me, slave?”, his voice was rough from sleep. “Yes, herdir.” “Then run me a bath.” In the past he wouldn’t have had qualms to use the slave, now he felt ill at the thought.

He knew how it felt to be used like this against his will. How could he do it to another, even if it was just an elf? Mo gobbled down the meal, but didn’t taste it. He was starved but he had lost his appetite. How had he ever been so heartless? He was a monster. No, Mo shook his head, not anymore. He wouldn’t do this again, not with a slave.

He could feel the elf’s fear, he stood in the door to the bathroom and didn’t dare to move. Mo stood up. “Clear the table.” When he was sure that the slave was gone, he peeled out of his dirty clothes and sank into the hot water. His wounds flared up in the heat but it also loosened the tightness in his muscles. Mo moaned softly. How good a simple bath could feel...

When he was more rested, he would try to heal his wounds but it was too early, he couldn’t concentrate and he missed his flutes, it was as if he had left a part of his soul behind. He wasn’t nearly as powerful as Sauron or Sinthoras, only a little Maia who had trusted the wrong person. Not that he had ever regretted joining Melkor.

Aule hadn’t trusted him, his former Master had betrayed him first, he owed him no loyalty, but it would have been much easier if he hadn’t fallen in with Sauron. When the water became cold, Mo stepped out of the tub and dried himself. He froze when he heard the slave suck in his breath and laid the towel around his shoulders although he knew that it was too late, the slave had seen.

The elf’s fear was like a storm, Mo turned around slowly. “Don’t be frightened, nethben”, he said gently. “You shouldn’t have seen this but as you have... I won’t hurt you, I know how that feels.” He rubbed his chin and pondered what to do. He couldn’t send him away, the slave would be punished because the overseer would think, he had angered Mo. “What’s your name?”

“Caldren, herdir”, the elf whispered. “Listen, Caldren. I haven’t slept in days and I’m going to lie down now and catch up on it. You can sleep in my bed or take the sofa, it looks tolerably comfortable.” Mo shrugged the towel off his shoulders and walked past the slave to his bed. He knew that he had confused him but he couldn’t deal with him now. He was so tired.

After a while he felt the slave lying down beside him and shortly after a hand started to caress his chest. Mo sighed inwardly and caught the hand. Hadn’t he made it clear enough that he didn’t want this? “No”, he said and rubbed his face.

“That’s not a test or something like it. I’m tired, I’m in pain and you don’t want to do this, three good reason for not doing it. You have nothing to fear from me, I won’t punish you. Close your eyes and sleep.” Mo was already half asleep when Caldren said softly: “Thank you, herdir.” Mo smiled weakly. Surely the elf had never lain in the bed of a Maia without something happening. And best of all: Sauron would never hear of this.

 

~*~*~

 

Melkor sipped at his wine and looked down on his slave, then his look travelled to the open door. His slave had pulled the chest back into the dungeon and lighted a few candles. It looked promising. Melkor had to admit that he knew how to keep him happy. “Wait for me in the dungeon.” There wasn’t really a reason for him to stay back, except perhaps to make the most of his anticipation.

He followed him soon, he had harnessed his desire the whole day, he hadn’t any patience left. His slave waited on his knees in the middle of the room. “Stand up.” Melkor chose two clamps that were linked with a chain from the chest, the slave breathed in deeply when he applied them but he didn’t shrink back. Melkor circled his nipples with a finger and kissed him deeply.

“Bow over the horse”, he ordered with a light slap to a buttock and watched the slave hungrily as he obeyed. Melkor pushed two metal claws over his middle- and forefinger. He scratched up his slave’s thigh with light pressure and licked his lips when his slave shivered. Soon the slave moaned with pleasure and Melkor felt his trousers tighten.

He was so beautiful, the narrow, red lines showing on his light skin. It happened when he fetched a soft flogger from the closet. Droning silence enfolded him, there was only his breath and the racing beat of his heart. Melkor gripped the flogger's handle so tight that his knuckles became white, cold sweat slid down his back.

The fear, the music might be gone forever this time, clamped around his heart with iron grip and as always, when he was frightened, his wrath wasn’t far off. He didn’t think when he struck out to beat his slave, it wasn’t for pleasure, he wanted to hurt someone to chase the fear away. He wanted to fill this terrible silence with screams. The slave gasped when the flogger met his skin.

Melkor wheeled around when he heard a knock. Who dared to disturb him? It made him even angrier that he couldn’t hear who was outside. He hurried out and wrenched the door open. “What?” “I didn’t want to disturb you, herdir.” Sinthoras scrutinized him with his black eyes. “Mormirion is just arrived, I thought, you might want to know that.”

“You chose a very bad moment, Sinthoras”, Melkor growled. “Are you alright, herdir?” Sinthoras touched his arm. “Is it...” He didn’t go on but he didn’t need to. Melkor had told no one, although he suspected that all of them guessed it. He nodded silently, Sinthoras caressed his shoulders. “It will surely be over soon, herdir”, he murmured.

Melkor closed his eyes. And what if wasn’t? He didn’t even know why this happened to him. Him! The mightiest of all. He sighed relieved when the Music embraced him again. “Thank you, Sinthoras.” Melkor kissed his cheek. “I was wrong, it was a good moment.” He would have hurt his slave if he hadn’t disturbed him. “I’ll talk to Mormirion tomorrow. Is there something else I can do for you?”

Sinthoras shook his head. “Is he fine?”, he asked hesitantly. Melkor nodded. “A good moment”, he repeated. It shouldn’t concern Sinthoras but for some reason he doted on his slave, one could almost get jealous. Melkor shook his head. “You’ll excuse me now.” He could feel his slave’s fear when he came back and regretted it. He hadn’t wanted it to be like this, this evening should have been nice for them both.

Melkor just caressed his back for a while. “It’s fine, nethben. I’m not angry anymore.” He had enjoyed the fear of his slaves. Why was it different with him? Why did he like it so much when he was aroused and submitted to him willingly? Melkor’s fingers found their way between the slave’s buttocks and elicited a moan when he pushed into him.

They had hated him, all of them, that’s why he had liked to turn their hate into fear. This one didn’t hate him, or he could talk himself into believing that he didn’t at least. With him it was nearly as it had been with Sinthoras and Mormirion. Maybe that was it. The slave got completely involved with him. He didn’t only surrender his body to him, Melkor felt as if he submitted with his whole soul.

What an arousing thought. He belonged to him completely. The slave’s fear subsided when he aroused him further, Melkor pulled his fingers back und picked up the flogger. “I’m not angry, nethben”, he said before he applied a controlled slap to his buttocks. The slave soon moaned with every slap, his skin darkened.

Melkor enjoyed to see how the slaps aroused him. Could he come only from this? He shook his head. The slave came when he ordered him to. If he ordered him now, would he come? Without a touch? “Come, slave”, he said without stopping the beating. The slave shivered moaning, his cum moistened the dark stone of the floor. ‘How marvellous you are’, Melkor thought and put the flogger away. His. Completely. He entered him slowly, savoured the feeling to own this elf utterly.

 

Mablung woke drenched in sweat and with racing heart. At first he believed the arms that held him to be Sauron’s, but before he could fight against them, he remembered where he was. He sobbed relieved and snuggled against his Master, today he could take liberties. When his Master had become so angry suddenly he had feared this night to turn awful, but someone had interrupted them and when Melkor had come back he had been calm again.

He didn’t understand what was going round in his Master’s head, but how should he? He was only an elf and next to him lay a Vala. Mablung listened but he couldn’t discern if his Master was awake. It wasn’t the first time that he dreamed of this terrible days in Sauron’s hands and he always feared that he might have screamed in his sleep.

He didn’t want to bother his Master with his nightmares, his Master should take pleasure in him and not share his problems. His Master caressed his back. So he was awake. Had he woken him? Did he know what he dreamt of? Mablung wasn’t sure how much Melkor could hear.

His own gift allowed him to understand his Master’s mood, how much stronger Melkor’s senses must be. For a while he couldn’t relax, but his Master didn’t talk to him and the gentle touch made him sleepy. He closed his eyes again, he didn’t want to talk about it, it was better if his Master didn’t inquire.

 


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Mo bowed to his Master, Melkor had invited him to dine with him, and tried to ignore Mablung. Was he fine? He still lived, but... He wanted to talk to him, he had liked him very much, but it wasn’t possible. Mablung belonged to Melkor and if he showed too much interest for his Master’s slave it wouldn’t sit well with Melkor.

“You probably ask yourself, why I sent for you”, Melkor said and sipped at his wine. “Yes, aranya.” Mo hadn’t had much time to wonder, but he was curious what his Master wanted from him. Melkor never had shown a marked interest in him. “I hear that you have experience in piercing the flesh.” The slave sucked in his breath when Melkor pinched his nipple. “I don’t want an orc to lay his hands on my slave. Will you pierce his nipples for me?”

“Of course, aranya, you won’t be disappointed.” Mo bowed his head. “I want also to show you my gratitude for training my slave, you did a good job. Would you like to stay?” Mormirion stared at him. Did Melkor really offer him a way out? “Here? You mean in Angband?” “That’s what I mean, yes. Tol-in-Gaurhoth isn’t the best place to show your worth.” And Melkor wanted him to be away from Artano, the two of them were to close.

“It’s an honour, aranya. Thank you. I’m glad that my work is appreciated.” “Very much.” Melkor petted the slave’s head. “Tell me, Mormirion, why didn’t you claim him for yourself? Why take the trouble to train a slave, if not to keep him?” Mo shrugged. He couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. “I’m not interested in having a slave around me all the time, but I appreciate it if there’s someone who knows my preferences if I’m in the mood.”

“I hope, you don’t mind me taking him for myself.” Melkor smiled but Mo knew that he must tread carefully. “Of course not, aranya. I’m glad that I could be of service to you with my actions.” “I’m going to ask Sinthoras to take you under his wing. He can use help.” Mo nodded his consent. “As you please, aranya. I will be happy to work with him.” Sinthoras had always been his friend, it would be so much better than with Sauron. He still couldn’t believe that he had gotten away – and as a reward for something he had liked to do.

                                          

Mablung breathed heavily. His Master hadn’t stopped touching him while he talked to Mormirion and that didn’t fail to show effects on him. When Mormirion had left, his Master gripped his neck and directed him in front of him. Mablung sat on the edge of the table. His Master’s fingertips tickled his knees and caressed the tender insides of his thighs, one finger traced the brand. One hand moved up to his nipples while he wrapped the other around his arousal.

Mablung threw his head back and moaned. He knew that this would go on for a while. His Master lately took pleasure in keeping him on the brink as long as possible. He gripped the tabletop for support when a shiver coursed through him. It seemed to him like an eternity until his Master said: “Get on the bed, slave.” Mablung whimpered relieved and stumbled to Melkor’s bed.

He trembled uncontrollably when a finger travelled down his spine and penetrated him. “Turn around, slave, I want to look into your face”, his Master whispered close to his ear and licked the tip. Mablung obeyed eagerly and watched Melkor impatiently while he undressed. “You are so beautiful when you are aroused, slave”, his Master murmured. Mablung blushed, he wasn’t yet used to his Master talking to him like this – almost like a lover – but he enjoyed it.

His Master leaned over him and kissed him slowly. Mablung wrapped his legs around him, he needed to feel him, now, or he would go insane. “You are quite in a hurry today, slave.” His Master laughed softly. Mablung moaned when his Master entered him slowly and tried to move against him to get him to thrust harder, but Melkor pressed his hips into the mattress and continued with slow, deep thrusts.

Mablung wondered where he took all this self-restraint from, he was so close himself. He wished to be free, then he would be able bury his hands in Melkor’s hair and pull him down to kiss him. But he was only a slave... and Melkor probably wouldn’t want him if he were free, for him the power he had over him was part of this.

Mablung’s eyes flew open, he tensed, when Melkor closed his hand around his neck. For a moment it was Sauron who leaned over him. His Master stopped immediately. ‘He wouldn’t have done that Before’, Mablung thought. He was glad of it and didn’t think it right at the same time. His Master shouldn’t need to make allowances for his slave. He smiled trembling and pushed his neck against his Master’s hand. This was his Master, not Sauron, he wouldn’t harm him.

Melkor’s thrusts became faster and harder, the hand around Mablung’s neck tightened. Mablung surrendered to the feeling. It felt good in a strange kind of way, it didn’t hurt, it only made breathing more difficult. It was the powerlessness, the knowledge that his Master only needed to squeeze a little tighter to kill him... he didn’t know why that fact aroused him so. His Master came inside him and lay down next to him. Mablung moaned when he wrapped his hand around his arousal. Was he pleased with him. “You are allowed to come now, slave”, his Master breathed into his ear.

 

“I’m proud of you, slave”, his Master said after Mablung’s breath had become normal again. Mablung looked at his Master questioningly. Melkor lay beside him, propped up on an elbow and caressing his ear. “I didn’t think you would submit to this so easily.” His Master ran his hand over Mablung’s neck. “I’m your slave, herdir. I would never fight you.” “Weren’t you frightened?” “No, herdir, not of you.”

Mablung leaned into the touch. “I didn’t think of Herdir Artano, not for long at least, herdir, only of you. I want you to be pleased with me.” His Master smiled and kissed his forehead. “I know, nethben, I know – and you are very good at it.” Melkor embraced him and Mablung buried his head at his shoulder. He stifled a sob. Melkor would never see anything else than a slave in him and he didn’t even believe Mablung when he told him such things. ‘I love you, herdir.’ Sometimes he was so close to just saying it, Melkor wouldn’t believe him anyway.

 

Mablung stood tied to the cross and strained his ears to hear the voices of his Master and Mormirion. They still were in the other room but it would become serious soon. His heart beat fast, he was nervous, he knew what would happen to him, after all. “Do you have enough light?” Melkor walked to him while Mormirion stepped to a small table where he set out his tools. “Yes, aranya.”

Melkor caressed Mablung’s sides and kissed his neck, his fingers ghosted over Mablung’s nipples. “I’m looking forward to play with them”, he whispered into his ear. Mormirion laughed. “You will have to be patient, aranya. They will take some time to heal propperly and you should hold back until then.” His Master grumbled something Mablung didn’t understand but he didn’t seem to be disgruntled.

He vanished from his view and fetched something from the chest. Mablung could feel him step behind him just before leather closed tightly around his eyes and shut the light out. “I want you to feel this, slave, only to feel.” Mablung trembled, his breathing shallow – and much too fast. No, he mustn’t! He needed to get himself together! Melkor wanted this, after Mormirion had finished he could let go, but not now.

His Master would get angry if he didn’t calm down. But the more he tried, the worse his fear got. It was so dark. He felt so lonely, so abandoned – unprotected. He could smell his own blood... no, that wasn’t true, he needn’t to be afraid, here was no one to fear... but the bloody welts on his back hurt so much. “Did you wait for me, slave?”, Sauron asked with a cruel smile in his voice. Mablung wanted to scream but he was frozen in terror.

 

Mo stiffened when he heard the panic flare up suddenly in Mablung’s music. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it, Melkor wouldn’t care and he mustn’t defy him... Mo shook his head. No, he couldn’t do this while the elf’s fear roared in his ears! He turned around to tell Melkor that they had to postpone this, he would conjure some excuse.

What he saw, took his breath away. Melkor had removed the mask and caressed Mablung’s cheek, tenderness in his eyes. “Why are you so frightened, nethben?”, he asked gently. Mablung sobbed, Mo could see that he tried to speak but that he was so frightened that he couldn’t get out a word. “It’s okay, nethben, everything’s okay.” Melkor untied him and embraced him. “I’m not mad at you, but you have to explain.”

“It was so dark, herdir. I couldn’t see. Forgive me, herdir, please, I will try to make up for it. Please, you don’t need to stop, I can endure it.” Melkor shook his head. “Mo, you can leave, we postpone it for another time.” He lifted his crying slave up and carried him into the bedroom. Mo followed him astonished. He would have expected everything: an outburst of rage, that Melkor simply ignored his slave’s fear, but not this. He felt so much tenderness, he would have never thought his Master to be capable of feeling this way for an elf. He bowed silently and left them. This was not meant for him to see.

 

Melkor sat with the crying elf in his arms and rocked him gently. He liked to be gentle with him. It gave him a warm feeling when the slave snuggled up to him after the sex and smiled. Melkor was happy that the slave submitted so eagerly to his admittedly not easily satisfied wishes. He had stopped to overthink it, still he was surprised about himself at the moment. He wasn’t angry, although the slave had just refused to obey.

While he waited for the slave to calm down, he wondered what he had done wrong. Until now he had barely given any signs of how deeply Artano had harmed him. Melkor was counting it a blessing, he wouldn’t have known how to handle it. He was unsure now. He didn’t know what he should do with the crying elf in his arms. He rather thought about what had frightened Mablung so.

What had he done different? Until he had put the mask around his face, he had been relaxed, nervous but not panicked. Could that be it? _“It was so dark”_ , he had said. “Tell me of Artano.” He needed to know, he didn’t want to panic him again. The slave flinched and shook his head. “Why not.” Melkor overlooked the breach of rule, that wasn’t important now. “I don’t want to think of it, herdir. Please, it hurts so much.” His voice was thick with tears. Melkor was sorry, he hadn’t wanted to harm him.

“Mablung.” The name felt strange in his mouth, he didn’t call him that often. “I need to know what you fear. If I know, I can prepare you slowly for it and maybe take the fear away. If I don’t know, I’ll throw you in at the deep again and never know it. I don’t want to punish you for defying me because you are too frightened to obey. Do you understand?”

“Yes, herdir”, he sounded miserable and Melkor pressed a kiss to his temple. “Tell me, everything.” And Mablung talked, he sobbed and asked for forgiveness a thousand times and finally cried himself to sleep. Melkor held him in his arms when he laid down. He had imagined this evening otherwise but that wasn’t important. Mo could pierce his nipples another time. Melkor hadn’t been able to watch it while his slave cried with fear. After he had heard what Sauron had done, he was even more amazed that Mablung wasn’t more broken.

 

Mo stepped into Sinthoras’ office and saluted. “Reporting for duty, General.” Sinthoras grinned at him. “Sit down, Mo, and stop the formalities. As long as there are no subordinates listening it is absolutely unnecessary. As far as I’m concerned, we are equals.” Mo sat down and nodded. That sounded much better. “Thank you, Sinthoras.” “Don’t thank me too early. You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into.”

Sinthoras motioned to the shelves full of heavy tomes. “I’m quartermaster and treasurer and because you can’t assign administrative tasks to orcs, I spend more time behind the desk than on the parade ground. There is much to do for you. I don’t know, why Melkor wants you to stay, but I’m glad that you are here.” “You have no idea how glad I am to be back.” Mo sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Artano has been in an awful mood since Melkor banished him.”

“I can imagine. Is there someone you would like to fetch. I’m always glad to have capable soldiers.” Mo shook his head slowly. It was true that you couldn’t give responsible tasks to most of the orcs but there were exceptions. “There is someone in the mines. He’s called Sharû, I think he might be of use.” Sinthoras lifted a brow. “An orc?” “Yes, but he’s... different. He is second generation, immortal or at least very long-living and... if you talk to him, it is almost as if you talked to an elf.” “I’ll take a look at him.” Sinthoras pulled one of the tomes from the shelve. “Let’s start.”

Mo felt as if the informations were doing somersaults in his mind. He had known Angband to be huge but only when you saw how many rooms there were, you understood how truly gigantic it was. He soon realised that it would take time until he could be of any real use to Sinthoras. Sinthoras closed the book of accounts and leaned back. “Let’s call it a day. May I invite you to dine with me?” “With pleasure.” Mo rolled his shoulders and followed him from the room.

It wasn’t far to Sinthoras’ rooms, probably a benefit of being quartermaster. “You need to know something before we go in.” Sinthoras turned around to face him. “My slave is a little jumpy and very fearful of strangers. I know it’s bad manners but I want you to leave him in peace.” Mo nodded, his mouth was dry. “Of course, don’t worry, I’m not offended.” It would never change that slaves were frightened of him but this fear should never again be justified. “He has nothing to fear from me.”

Sinthoras looked at him surprised. “You have a reputation of being an unrelenting Master, but that doesn’t sound like it.” Mo shrugged. “People think, because I serve Artano, I’m like him, but I’m not. I expect obedience but I’m not without compassion.” Sinthoras opened the door. “I thought so. Your reputation doesn’t fit with helping a hurt slave. Or to worry for that slave even when he belongs long to another.” “Mablung, yes.” Mo shook his head. “You can’t imagine how relieved I was to hear that he lives.”

“Why?” Sinthoras kissed his slave’s cheek by way of greeting. Mo saw that the elf glanced at him nervously and ignored him. “Because he doesn’t deserve to die in such a way.” Mo sat down at the table, the elf poured wine for them both, his hands trembled. “Melkor has ordered you here, to pierce his slave’s nipples, didn’t he?” Mo nodded. “Yes.” He remembered yesterday evening.

“I was meant to do it yesterday, but... Mablung was scared, I don’t know exactly what it was that frightened him so much, but it was bad. I thought Melkor would ignore it, or become angry.” Mo shook his head. “He stopped it, sent me away and untied him and it didn’t look like if he wanted to punish him. He was so gentle. I’ve never seen him like this, Sinthoras. I didn’t know he can be like this and to a slave!”

“Did you confront him with it?” Sinthoras sounded tense. Mo huffed. “No, of course not. I'm not a fool. He likes him, doesn’t he?” “Yes.” Sinthoras ate for a while silently and Mo just asked himself if he would say anything else about it, when he continued: “You should have seen him when we believed that Mablung would die. I spread the rumour that he was away because I didn’t want someone to see him in such a state.

Mablung means very much to him, more than he will ever be ready to admit. I don’t confront him with it and you shouldn’t, either. Knowing him that would mean Mablung’s death. He would kill him to prove the opposite. It is better for Mablung if the question what he means to him isn’t on Melkor’s mind.” “And Mablung?” Sinthoras shrugged. “Who can say what is going round in a slave’s head? But I don’t believe he hates him, he doesn’t feel like it.”

Sinthoras chewed musingly on a piece of bread. “Slave-sickness they call it if one of them has feelings for his Master. Maybe it’s that. It’s the circumstances.” “Possibly.” Mo thought of Caldren, he had sent him home today. It made him nervous to have him around, his self-restraint wasn’t infinite. He feared to do something he would rue later. Sinthoras’ slave was still frightened although Mo didn’t even look at him.

‘Send him away, Sinthoras.’ His brother looked surprised at him. ‘He is frightened. There is no reason why he needs to stay.’ “You can go, Galathil.” Sinthoras’ voice was gentle. “I don’t need you anymore today.” Mo felt the elf’s relieve when he left the room. “How is it that you are so empathic, Mo?” Sinthoras seemed to look deep into him. Mo looked away embarrassed. “The last years weren’t easy”, he answered evasively, he didn’t want to talk about Sauron. It was of no concern to Sinthoras. “I just pity him.”


	20. Chapter Nineteen

“Russandol? Help me!” Sinthoras turned around surprised. Who called him by a pet name? He recognized Silwen after a moment. It had been years since he had made his offer to Nelwen and he had never heard of her again. He was the more surprised to see Silwen stand before him now. “What happened?” He lifted the crying girl up and tried without success to quiet her.

“I were at the home of a friend of my nana and... the orcs came and nana’s friend told me to run and I did, but I got lost and now I saw you... Please, Russandol, you have to help me”, she sobbed. “Where does this friend live? Try to remember the way. Don’t worry, hína, all will be fine.” He rubbed her back, feeling awkward. “I think, I came from there...” She pointed uncertainly in a direction.

 

After a bit of confusion they finally found the house, or what Silwen named a house. It looked more like a run-down shack to Sinthoras. He felt a stab of remorse, he really needed to talk to Melkor about the conditions in the slave quarters. He lifted the dirty blanket that served as door and stepped in. A female elf looked startled at him and hurried to kneel before him. He saw that she had cried, she trembled.

“Sit down”, he told her and she sat again on the only chair of the room. “I found Silwen. She was lost and I wanted to bring her back but I think you need a little quiet. I’ll bring her home.” “You can’t”, Silwen piped in. “Nana is working.” “I thought you are with her in the kitchen?” “Not work like that. Nana is with a man and I’m not allowed to go with her.”

Sinthoras considered his options, then he said to the slave: “I’ll take her with me. Tell Newlen that her daughter is with Sinthoras and she can pick her up at my home. She knows where I live. Don’t worry, I won’t harm her.” “Yes, herdir”, she whispered. As soon as they were out of the hut, Silwen cheered: “I can come with you? Thank you, Russandol.” “Just you wait. Maybe you will be horribly bored.”

“I don’t think so!” He smiled at her indignation. “Nana says that you are very old, you must know many stories.” ‘Of death and grief and pain, yes’, he thought gloomily but didn’t answer her. He put her down when he closed his door behind them and said: “Wait for a moment I have to take care of something.” He walked into the sleeping room and closed the door.

“How can I be of service, herdir?” Galathil knelt before him. “Stand up, Galathil.” He kissed him and caressed his naked body. “Dress, we have a young lady as our guest and I don’t want to explain to her why you are naked.” Galathil lifted his eyebrows. “She must be very young if she can’t figure that out.” Sinthoras smiled. “She is about ten.” He shook his head. “She knows probably very well why you are here but I think it would be better if you are dressed, regardless.”

“Ten? Herdir? What do you want with a child?” Galathil’s expression changed. Sinthoras didn’t look too closely, he didn’t want to know what his slave thought of him. “Do you remember Nelwen? The slave who tended to Mablung? Silwen is her daughter. She crossed my path today and did ask for help and because she couldn’t go anywhere else and her mother is... working, I took her with me. And now dress, or I’ll...” A deafening clatter interrupted him.

“I think she found your armour, herdir.” Galathil’s mouth twitched suspiciously. Sinthoras shot him a dark look. “Dress!” He found Silwen in a heap of dark metal parts. “I’m sorry, Russandol. Please. I... I didn’t want to make a mess.” The girl’s lower lip trembled, tears rand won her cheeks. “Hush, it’s okay. Are you hurt?” She shook her head. “Good.” Sinthoras was unsure what to do with her.

“If this had happened to me...”, Galathil murmured. “You aren’t a child. Clean up.” “Yes, herdir.” Galathil bit back the comment he had on his tongue, Sinthoras’ inflection told him that it was enough insubordination for today. “Who is that?” “That’s Galathil.” “I’m Silwen.” She walked to him. “I’ll help you.” “You don’t need to. Go with my herdir.” “But it is my fault.”

“Come, Silwen. Are you hungry?” That distracted her. “I can eat something? Just like that?” “Of course. I have enough.” Sinthoras smiled and felt bad at the same time. They forced them to work for them and didn’t even have the decency to feed them properly. He needed to talk to Melkor, maybe he could persuade him to do something.

 

He sat in his living room with Silwen. He had eaten with her and showed her is rooms, she had been amazed how big it was. Now she wanted to hear a story. “What do you want me to tell you?” “The story of the star lady.” Sinthoras startled. Of course the elves told stories that comforted them. What could he tell her? How much did she know? “I will tell you, how Elbereth made the stars”, he started slowly.

Silwen looked up at him with shining eyes. “The Valar lived happy in their land where the Two Trees flowered but the rest of the world was dark. That concerned Elbereth and she took a bit of Telperion’s Light and mad small lights that she set at the sky...” Before he had really started Silwen had fallen asleep. It had been a long day for her.

When Nelwen finally came, pale with fear, he laid her sleeping daughter in her arms. “When you can’t take her with you the next time, bring her to me. She is saver here.” “If you desire it, herdir, but why are you concerned for a slave child?” She scrutinized him warily. Sinthoras knew what she thought. “I assure you, it isn’t what you think. I’ll tell you again that I have no interest in women. But she is... she is so innocent. I don’t want her to be harmed.” Nelwen bowed her head. “You are a good man, herdir. Thank you for your kindness.”

_167 F.A._

Mo staggered through his door. Melkor had made him general today and they had celebrated – long and wild, he was drunk. That was probably why he needed a moment to realize, that he wasn’t alone in the room. “What are you doing here?”, he slurred. He _had_ wondered, why Mablung wasn’t with Melkor. “Don’t you know that, herdir? You are general now. My Master is showing you his appreciation.”

The slave helped him undress, which Mo was thankful for. He would have probably staggered into bed clothed otherwise. “And what am I to do with you now?” He blinked to clear his eyes, his sight was slightly hazy. “Whatever you want, herdir.” The slave looked nervous. “I want to sleep.” Mo looked away. It would have been too easy to forget himself. He desired Mablung, but he had made himself a promise. He knew, even in his intoxicated condition, that he would hate himself tomorrow, if he abused him tonight. “Lie down with me.” He let himself fall onto the bed and pulled the slave down with him and drifted off.

 

His head felt like bursting. ‘I’ll never drink that much again.’ Mo groaned and blinked tentatively. The faint morning light, coming from his small window, stung his eyes. He knew that it was the long time in this body that made him so weak. He wasn’t the only one feeling the consequences of letting the body become too real. Rumour had it, even Melkor was affected, allthough no one dared to ask him directly.

He winced when a hand slipped between his legs. Mablung... he nearly had forgotten. Mo gripped his wrist before he could go on. “Don’t”, he said with hoarse voice and staggered to the bathroom on unsteady feet and splashed some water into his face. A mouthful of water helped to get rid of the stale taste in his mouth. Tired eyes looked at him out of the mirror, he looked as tired as he felt. Mo closed his eyes.

What exactly should he do with the slave in his bed? He wanted him, oh yes. Mablung was like a light. Mablung had always made him forget, what he did here, what had become of him. And that was why he couldn’t do it. He would look, he wouldn’t lie to himself any longer. Artano had made him his slave, Melkor had saved him and he was general now. He had to be careful, he mustn’t lose his Kings favour, but he could do something in his current position.

What should he do with Mablung? Melkor wouldn’t take it well if he rejected his gift. Even if he wouldn’t take it out on him, his slave would surely have to face the consequences. Mablung still lay on the bed when he came back, he hadn’t moved at all as far as he could tell. He sounded insecure, Mo’s behaviour confused him and Mo couldn’t blame him for it. “What orders did Melkor give you?”, Mo asked. “To serve you as it pleases you, herdir.”

“Well, it would have pleased me, if he didn’t.” Mo sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. “But as you are here now... Tell me: how are you?” “I’m fine, herdir”, Mablung answered haltingly. “I’m... My Master treats me decently. It’s only bad when he is angry.” Mo nodded. Melkors anger was easily provoked, he mused. He stiffened when he felt Mablung caressing his scarred back.

Mo smiled at him over his shoulder. “You have seen my back before, I know that.” “It wasn’t... that bad then”, Mablung whispered and Mo sighed. “No, it wasn’t. But I don’t have to explain to you how Sauron is, do I?” He felt the elf flinch at the name, the elves had given to Artano. He called him that a long time already, it fit. Mo turned around. “I’ll bring you back now. Don’t be frightened, I will make him understand, that it isn’t your fault.” He kissed his forehead. “You are a good boy, Mablung.”

 

“Has he behaved himself?” “Yes, aranya.” “I sense a ‘but’.” Melkor lifted his eyebrow and Mo squirmed. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea after all. “But I’m not in the mood for such things at the moment. I appreciate this gift, but I didn’t use him.” “Really?” Melkor’s face darkened. “What did he do?”

Mo saw Mablung’s wince and rushed to say: “Nothing I didn’t want. Why should I be interested in protecting him, if he had disobeyed me? Your slave is obedient and very beautiful, it’s not him. Please believe me and don’t punish him for my shortcomings. I don’t want to offend you, aranya. I’m just a Maia, I feel, I’m not entitled to use your property.”

Mo relaxed relieved when Melkor smiled. “You sell yourself short, Mormirion, but I accept your opinion. You are allowed to go.” Mo bowed deeply and left. He was sure now that Melkor wouldn’t punish Mablung and that was the most important.

 

Melkor looked at the closed door Mo had just left through. “What did he do with you, nethben, if he hasn’t taken you?” “He slept, herdir.” Mablung was relieved that Mormirion had quenched Melkors rage. “He was drunk and fell asleep. He knew my name, herdir. I didn’t think he would remember and... he has scars on his back.” Melkor put his hand on his slaves head. “Don’t worry about it, nethben.”

He knew Artano well. Had he used his subordinate to fulfil his desires when he hadn’t had slaves for it? Mormirion acted strange, Melkor had noticed how he looked at the slaves. Not with desire but pity and something else. Artano was an idiot, it seemed he had made him reconsider his decisions. Melkor stroked his chin, he had to be careful not to lose him.

Mormirion could be a dangerous if he defected to the enemy, he knew too much. He had to keep him by his side at all cost. “Come, nethben.” Melkor headed for his throne room, the familiar padding of his slave’s naked feet following him. He had thought it to be an necessity to lend him to Mormirion, but he hadn’t liked it. It was good to have him back. Melkor didn’t understand Mormirion. Elves stood so far below them, they were born to serve them. There was no reason for pity.

 

~*~*~ 

 

Galathil caught the clothes is Master tossed to him with a surprised look. What was he up to now? “Visit Mablung, Galathil, surely he is lonely.” “Thank you, herdir!” Galathil had often thought of Mablung in the last few days. His friend sitting alone in Morgoth’s rooms with no one looking after him. He would have felt relief, if his Master hadn’t been around but he knew Mablung felt otherwise.

He never had told him directly but Galathil saw how he looked at Morgoth when no one watched. His parents had looked at each other that way – back when he still had parents. Galathil would never understand how Mablung could love someone who abused him. If he thought he’d stand a chance, he would have rammed a knife into Sinthoras’ heart already. He never dwelt long on this thought, his Master saw much, and bowed instead.

“I will pick you up later, Galathil.” Sinthoras followed him with his gaze as he left. Galathil wasn’t frightened to go alone, it wasn’t far and it had that one advantage to be a Maia’s slave, no one dared to touch him. “Galathil!” Mablung beamed at him. “How are you?” His friend sat on the mattress that was his sleeping place, his back leaned against the wall. “Fine.” Galathil sat down next to him. “Gothmog thought, you might like company as Morgoth isn’t here.”

“I wish, you wouldn’t call him that.” Mablung shivered. “Them both. What if they hear?” “They won’t. They have enslaved my body but I won’t let them dictate my thoughts!” Galathil punched the mattress with his fist, he was angry. “I can’t believe that you accept this so easily. It’s one thing to pretend, I see the merits. But you, you believe what you say, don’t you? Have you forgotten why your people came back to Arda? Are you going to tell me that you don’t feel hate when Morgoth fucks you wearing the Silmaril?”

Galathil wanted to make him angry, to see the mask of the submissive slave slip just once. Where did he hide that infamous noldorin pride? But Mablung only pulled his knees up to his chest and said: “He usually takes off the crown.” Galathil bristled with anger. “You know exactly what I mean!” “Oh, Galathil!” Mablung looked sadly at him. “Even if I felt this way, and I don’t, what do you want me to do? There’s no way out.”

“But there is!” Galathil bit his lip. He didn’t know, if Mablung would come with them but he surely wouldn’t betray them. “A few others and me think, we have found a way out. Andor has discovered it. You know Andor? The elf, who brings the meals and cleans up. We are going to escape, we are going to be free again. Come with us Mablung, let’s go home.”

“Home?” Mablung’s laugh sounded bitter. “I don’t have a home. I’m cursed, Galathil, I have killed an elf. You mustn’t do that!” He gripped his arm with surprising strength and forced him to look at him. “They will catch you, Galathil. Don’t throw your life away, don’t throw Sinthoras’ kindness away.” “Sinthoras’ kindness!” Galathil felt his anger rise again. Why was he so stupid?

“My ‘Master’ isn’t better than anyone of them. If he were as good as you think, he wouldn’t own slaves. He hasn’t any right to treat me like this. Nothing gives him the right to enslave me. Do you really want to sleep on the floor like a dog for the rest of your life?” Galathil felt tears in his eyes. “Have you been a slave for so long that you have forgotten how it is to be free?”

Mablung shook his head. “I remember, I remember well, but this is my life now. There is no hope for things to be different, I have learned to life with it and you should, too. Please, Galathil, I’m your friend. Listen to me.” “I have made up my mind, Mablung. I’m sorry, I hoped you would...” He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

He didn’t want to leave him behind. “Better to die on the run than to life such a live.” “I wish you farewell then, Galathil. I hope, we won’t see each other again.” Mablung’s eyes shone with tears. “Because that would mean, that you have made it.” Galathil stood up and left, his spirit down.

 

Mablung stared into space. He understood Galathil, the hope for freedom, but he knew it to be an illusion. All exits were well guarded, he had knelt next to Melkor when he had talked with his generals about his absence. There was no hope. Maybe he was a coward not to use this chance. Maybe he really had been a slave for too long. The dream of freedom had died for him a long time ago.

And there was something else. The prospect of never seeing his Master again was terrible. Yes, he was a slave. Yes, Melkor could be cruel, although he restrained himself when he wasn’t angry, Mablung was still surprised about it. But he was lonely. Sometimes he heard him cry in his sleep. And sometimes when Melkor looked at him, it seemed to be more than desire in his gaze. That was his hope an it was just as foolish.

Melkor would never return his feelings, Melkor would never love him. He winced when Sinthoras entered the room, he hadn’t heard him come. “Galathil isn’t here?”, the Maia asked bewildered. “No, herdir.” Mablung pulled himself together. “He was but he went away again.” “What happened, Mablung?” Sinthoras mustered him, he surely felt his inner tumult. “We had an argument”, Mablung answered after a moment of silence. He mustn’t betray his friend, even if there was no hope. And maybe he thought better of it when he saw the guards.

 

Mablung walked up and down the room nervously. Andor hadn’t appeared today and as he didn’t think that he had forgotten him, that could only mean one thing. What on earth should he do? They couldn’t have set out before Sinthoras left his rooms, so it had to have been light already. Even though they could be far away by now – or caught. Mablung felt ill. Galathil had said, that he would rather die but he knew that slaves who tried to escape weren’t killed – not immediately.

They would make an example of them. Galathil’s only chance was for Sinthoras to learn of his recapture soon enough. Regardless of Galathil’s opinion, Mablung was sure that the Maia liked his slave. Would he be able to forgive him his escape attempt? Galathil would hate him, if he betrayed him. It was quite possible that he would put the guards on their track but he had to risk it. Mablung walked to Sinthoras’ office, his heart beating fast.

He didn’t like being alone on Angband’s corridors and he still didn’t know what to say. Sinthoras looked surprised at him. “Mablung, what are you doing here?” “Where is Galathil, herdir?”, Mablung asked haltingly. “At home.” “Are you sure? Herdir, I... he talked about escape and I think... maybe today...” The chair fell over when Sinthoras leaped to his feet. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think that they won’t make it. Save him, herdir, please. Don’t allow him to be hurt.” Sinthoras' eyes became gentle. “You know me well, nethben. Do you know, which way they went?” Mablung shook his head, he hadn’t thought to ask. “Go back home, I will take care of this. If it is true what you say, he will be punished, but I won’t be cruel.” “Thank you, herdir.” He hoped it wasn’t already too late.

 

Sinthoras stretched his senses and searched for Galathil’s song. Mablung was right, he wasn’t in his rooms, he could feel him far down in the tunnels that connected the mines to the fortress. Sinthoras started to run. Maybe he could find the elves before the guards did and safe Galathil. He was angry at his slave. He had thought, the boy had understood that he didn’t want him ill.

He had been good to him, how dared he thank his kindness with escape? Sinthoras’ body wavered and turned to a being of flame and darkness. He wouldn’t be cruel to Galathil, come what may, but he would pay if he caught him. He thanked Mablung silently for coming to him, that surely hadn’t been easy for him, but it would safe Galathil’s life. He felt Galathil clearly now, he was frightened, and he could hear the sounds of a fight in the distance.

Sinthoras ran faster and reached them in time to see an orc lifting his sword to kill Galathil. His whip shot out and snapped the sword from the orcs hand. “Take your hands off my slave”, he rumbled. Galathil looked up at him with eyes wide with fear, he never had seen him in this shape before. “They tried to flee, general. Forgive me, but I only did, what I was ordered to do.” Sinthoras saw two elves lying dead on the floor, three others were just being tied up. Galathil shivered, tears streaked his face.

“You have done well, soldiers. Take them to the dungeon, the King will judge them when he is back. I will see to the punishment of my slave myself.” “As you command, general.” “Come, Galathil.” Sinthoras turned around and walked away without making sure that his order was followed. His slave was not so stupid as to stay behind. “Herdir, is that you?”, he heard Galathil whisper after a while.

“Yes.” It took Sinthoras an effort to force his soul back into the shape of an elf, but when he wore his fire shape he tended to act violently and on instinct. He had to pull himself together, if he didn’t want to make a mistake. Galathil would have to face his wrath but he didn’t want to kill him. He liked the elf. Why had he had to do this? Had he really been so stupid to think that escape was a possibility?

Sinthoras chose the direct way to his rooms and thought about his next steps. He didn’t really know what to do now. Slowly he opened a drawer and took a whip. “Take off your clothes, Galathil”, he said calmly. He fought his wrath with all his resolve, he mustn’t push too hard. Galathil trembled so hard, he nearly couldn’t open the buttons of his shirt but he obeyed. “They are dead, aren’t they?”, he whispered, his voice thick with tears.

“Yes, and the ones who aren’t will soon die.” For the first time it occurred to Sinthoras that maybe Galathil hadn’t wanted to stay alive. The elf winced when he came closer and drew his dagger. “Do you want to die, Galathil?” He laid his hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye enquiringly. He would grant him this mercy even though the idea cut deeply into his heart. “I will give you an easier death than theirs, if that is what you want.”

Sinthoras touched the tip of his dagger to Galathil’s chest where he could see his heartbeat. Galathil lowered his head, he shook with sobs. Slowly he closed his fingers around Sinthoras’ hand and pushed it away. “No, herdir. I thought so, that I’d rather die than to life another day in slavery. But when the moment came...” He shook his head. “I want to live.” Sinthoras put the dagger away. “Then you will live.”

He pointed at the wall. “Kneel and brace your hands against the wall. Seventy lashes and count yourself lucky.” Soon Galathil screamed at every blow, he never had taken pain easily and even though Sinthoras used a whip too light for punishment, it was hard on him. Sinthoras felt the fire burn inside him. He tried to hold back, but he was angry. He didn’t take pleasure in hurting him but it gave him a certain satisfaction to give him his rightful punishment.

Galathil deserved this. He had run. And if Mablung hadn’t talked he would be dead by now! Sinthoras dropped the whip and knelt behind him. “How could you be so stupid to think you could escape?”, he growled and yanked his head back by the hair. Galathil’s cheeks shone with tears. “What am I to do with you, slave? Do you want it to be as it was in the beginning? Do you want me to whip you every day so you won’t forget your place?”

“No, herdir, please...”, Galathil whimpered, eyes wide with panic. “Please don’t.” “Then why do you trifle with my goodwill? I’ve been always good to you!” Galathil closed his eyes sobbing and when he opened them again, there was a hardness in them, Sinthoras had never seen before. For the first time he felt his hatred, it hit him like a blow.

“Good? You rape me! You think, you have the right to punish me if I don’t obey or if I want my freedom! You have no right to enslave me!” Sinthoras staggered to his feet. Galathil’s words cut into his soul and at the same time he trembled with rage, the fire glowed under his skin. “I have every right!” His voice sounded like flames in a storm.

“It seems to me, you haven’t had enough, slave. Do you want me to continue?” Sinthoras called his whip with a swing of his hand – the other whip. “Do you want _this_?” Galathil gasped when the flames licked over his back, though it hadn’t even been a real blow. “Answer me!”, Sinthoras yelled at him.

“No!”, Galathil sobbed. “No, please!” Suddenly Sinthoras felt so very tired. When was the last time that anything had been easy? Why couldn’t it be like before? Back, before the war, when everything seemed clear. He turned away from his slave. “Go to bed.”

 

Mablung knocked at Sinthoras’ door with trepidation. He didn’t know what to expect. Had he found Galathil in time? And what had he done to him, if he had? It was obvious, that his friend wouldn’t get away without punishment. Sinthoras opened the door himself. “Come in, Mablung.” He looked exhausted – and sad. Mablungs heart tightened. Had he been too late?

“Galathil is in the bed room. You are here because of him, aren’t you? Go to him, if you want.” “Thank you, herdir.” Galathil turned his head when he came in, he lay on his belly, his eyes were red. “What did you do?” Mablung stared at the slim burn across Galathil’s back. He could imagine what had caused it but he would have bet his right hand on Sinthoras not punishing Galathil with fire. “I made him angry. Told him what I think.”

Galathil looked away. Mablung sighed and sat down on the floor. “You fool”, he said gently and laid his hand on his hair. “Why on earth did you do that?” “I was so sad.” Galathil sobbed. “They are dead, Mablung! And only because we wanted something that no one should have the right to take away from us.” Mablung stayed silent for a while. What he had to say, he didn’t even want to think because it made everything harder.

“You know, Galathil, you accused me of forgetting how it is to be free, but that is not true. I remember. And you are right, no one should have the right to take our freedom away but I remember, too, my first night with Melkor. I hated him so much and I resisted him because I thought I had to. Because I’m a Noldo, because I was supposed to not let him win.” Galathil lifted his head taken aback. “You did... you never told me.”

Mablung smiled lopsidedly. “It is nothing I think of willingly. It was a mistake, as was made clear to me very painfully. His punishment was terrible. I never disobeyed him again. I can’t afford hatred, Galathil, and you can’t either. If it is right or not... It is. It is and we can’t change a thing about it. If you want to life, you have to accept this.” Mablung embraced him when he started to cry. “I’m so frightened”, Galathil sobbed. “I don’t want it to be like it was in the beginning.”

Mablung kissed his temple. “It won’t”, he answered. “I know that you are in pain but he hasn’t beaten you badly. Not as much as your escape attempt could have justified. He is not a cruel person, he won’t hold a grudge because of it.” Galathil shook his head. “How can you be so sure?” “I smell the herbs he used to tend your wounds. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t forgive you.”

“Thank you, Mablung”, Galathil whispered after a while. “For being here. I don’t know what I would do without you.” “I’m your friend, Galathil. I’m always there for you.”

 

Sinthoras sat in front of the fireplace and stared into the fire. Mablung walked slowly up to him and knelt down at his side. “He hates me.” Mablung could feel his inner turmoil, he leaned his head against Sinthoras’ leg. “He doesn’t hate you”, he answered quietly. “He is sad and hurt. He had hope and now he has to come to terms with the fact that there is no hope.”

Sinthoras lifted his chin with his hand. “Why didn’t you go with them?” “I knew how this would end. I worked in the mines, we all knew of the tunnels going out. Now and then someone would try, but everyone was caught. I have seen what they did to them.” Mablung shivered. “They never stood a chance.” “Wise of you.” Sinthoras reclined sighing. “How is he? He... doesn’t talk to me.”

“He is frightened, herdir. He thinks, you are going to beat him again.” “I threatened him with it yesterday, yes. I was so angry.” Sinthoras shook his head. “He had his punishment. He has nothing to fear if he obeys.” “I know, herdir. That’s what I told him.” Sinthoras caressed his hair. “So much trust from someone who has already experienced so much pain. Where do you take it from?” “I know, that you are not cruel, herdir. You showed me when we first met and ever since.” “Yes, I remember.” Sinthoras’ Hand came to rest on his neck. Mablung closed his eyes, it felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish you all a Merry Christmas.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Melkor dismounted and dismissed Mórhuin with a pat to his neck. He was glad to be back. He had been around humans the last weeks, had made sure they would fight on his side when he needed them. They saw him as a god and that was well. Soon he would send a few of his people east to demand tribute.

Melkor hurried to his rooms, he longed for a bath and his slave. The elf knelt in his place as if he hadn’t moved the whole time. That was nonsense of course but still the sight pleased Melkor. “Come to me.” He embraced him tightly, his hands stroked his warm skin, he breathed in his scent deeply. He had missed him. Melkor stole a long kiss and decided that the bath could wait.

“Help me get the armour off.” His slave worked fast but it took some time until he was rid of it. His self-control hung by a thread when he was finally naked. He kissed the slave savagely before he pushed him to his knees and thrust into his mouth. It felt so good to be back.

 

Mablung had closed his eyes and remained completely still. He felt that his Master thought only of himself at the moment, but that wasn’t so bad, he would always be what is Master wanted him to be. It was overwhelming to feel the presence of his Master again after he had been away for so long, he shivered. He had longed for him, had lain awake at night and wished he lay beside him. He loved him, even when he used him so thoughtlessly like now.

His Master came in his mouth. Mablung was aroused, he had been tempted the last weeks, but he hadn’t touched himself, his pleasure belonged to his Master. Melkor ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “Follow me to the bathroom.” The basin was full, it was fed by an underground-river. Melkor said a word that Mablung didn’t understand, but it harmonised with his music, and steam wafted over the water. His Master sighed comfortably when he sat down in the hot water and beckoned him over. “Come in, slave.”

Mablung gasped for air, it was nearly too hot for him but after a moment it felt good. The water swirled around him almost as if it were alive. Mablung straddled his Master’s lap and moved his hips slowly. “So bold today, slave.” Melkor laughed quietly, his hand entwined in Mablung’s hair. “Have you missed me?” “Yes, herdir.” Every other slave would have said yes and meant no, but other slaves didn’t love their masters.

Mablung moaned softly when his Master kissed him again. What he did _was_ bold, it would earn him a punishment if Melkor’s mood changed, but he wanted to risk it. He felt Melkor’s arousal grow. “I wish I could have taken you with me. Men have nothing to offer that comes close to you.” His Master hummed when Mablung wrapped his hand around him to align him with his opening and sat down slowly. He smiled, this sound meant that he served him well.

 

Melkor allowed his slave to set the pace, just enjoying to be inside him again. The humans had tried to satisfy him, had sent women who would have seen it as honour to be chosen by him and later, when they noted that he didn’t show interest, young men. He had taken them but none of them had been able to please him like his slave did. They were only men, they couldn’t rival an elf in beauty and resilience. Melkor caressed the soft, smooth skin of his slave.

It felt so good, so right, to touch him, as if he had been only created to serve him. He liked that thought. This elf was completely and utterly his. Melkor gasped when pleasure engulfed him like a wave. He sat still for a moment, his head resting on the rim of the basin, and listened to the fast beating of his heart. Gently he caressed the slave’s cheek. He had never had a slave that served him so eagerly. “You don’t fear me”, he said softly. “No, herdir”, the slave answered haltingly. “Not when you are like now.”

Melkor smiled wryly. “And how might that be?” Sometimes he was tempted to teach him fear of him, to teach him respect. But not now. His slave wasn’t disrespectful. Absence of fear wasn’t disrespectfulness. He was on his guard now, Melkor could feel that he weighed his words carefully. “You are pleased with me – I think?” “Very pleased.” Melkor embraced him, the slave’s head came to rest on his chest. He felt him shiver, his arousal pushed against Melkor’s belly.

Melkor smiled and whispered to him: “I’m going to have you a few more times before I allow you to come, slave. I have been away for long, I’m going to remind you whom you belong to.” He felt a flash of fear that vanished quickly when he just stroked his back for a while. “Wash my hair, slave”, he said eventually. To be clean again... Men didn’t care much for cleanliness. All he had had there was a wooden tub that was much too small for his taste.

If they weren’t so useful for his war with the Noldor he wouldn’t even bother about them. He sighed blissfully, his slave massaged his scalp and the touch sent pleasant shivers down his spine. Melkor got out of the water and dried himself. He was strong today, his power completely one with himself and so it only needed a thought to dry his hair. “Bring me a flogger, slave. Your choice.” He wasn’t finished, he’d had to be without him for too long. He watched him walking out of the room and followed him more slowly, relishing the anticipation.

 

Mablung opened the closet and let his gaze wander over the floggers. He had felt each of them, knew what pain they would give. His choice... but it wasn’t, really. If his choice displeased his master he would be punished. But his Master was in a fine mood today, he wouldn’t want to beat him bloody. Mablung laid the flogger on his palms and walked back into the sleeping room with bowed head. His Master waited for him, Mablung knelt and lifted his hands over his head, offering him the flogger. It felt good to do this again.

He hadn’t really known what to do with his time when Melkor had been away. He had visited Galathil but he had lacked the daily routine. He lived to serve his Master. What was he do with himself if his Master wasn’t there? His Master lifted his chin with the handle of the flogger. “Your choice pleases me, slave. Offer yourself to me.” Mablung turned around and presented him his back, hands laced at the neck. His heart beat fast he still was aroused.

“Have you touched yourself while I was away, slave?” The lashes ghosted over his back. Mablung shivered in anticipation of the pain. “No, herdir. My pleasure belongs to you.” His master petted his head. “Good boy.” The first slap left a fiery track on Mablung’s shoulders. Mablung breathed in deeply and relaxed his muscles. He didn’t fight the pain, accepted it, let himself fall into it. He could feel his Master’s desire, his delight because he submitted.

Mablung moaned softly. It would have been so easy to let go completely but he wasn’t allowed to. Not yet. His sweat burned on his sore skin when is Master stopped. “So beautiful”, his Master breathed into his ear, his hand caressed down his back and closed around his smarting buttock. Mablung moved into the touch. He wanted him so much! His Master buried his hand in his hair and pulled his head back. “Whom do you belong to, slave?”, he asked sternly. “You, herdir”, Mablung answered breathlessly. “I’m completely yours. Always.” His Master smiled and Mablung could feel his... joy. “Kneel on the bed, slave.”

 

Later Mablung lay awake and listened to the breathing of his Master who had put an arm around him in a proprietary gesture. He took it as a sign that he was allowed to stay in bed. Normally, Mablung retreated to his bed on the floor, but today his Master seemed to want him close. The fresh welts on his back burned where they touched his Masters skin, he felt a light soreness between his legs, but Mablung couldn’t have wished to be anywhere else.

He thought of Galathil, of Andor who waited in some cell for his sentence, and he was ashamed. Not for not daring to run. It had been foolish, he had known that it would go wrong. And still... He could see the light of the Silmaril shine through the cloth that covered them. No, he couldn’t afford hatred but he had fallen in love with his enemy and that was wrong. He had gone too far. It was one thing to obey, they all did, they had to, but he didn’t only give him his body – he had gifted him his soul. He liked to be a slave!

What would his family think if they knew what he did? What would Glorfindel think if he could see him like this? Mablung’s breath hitched, he fought the tears. He mustn’t cry, his Master didn’t like it. He held his breath when his Master caressed his side, his heart raced. “What is wrong, nethben? I wasn’t harsh.” It was a statement, not a question, his Master knew what he could take. “I’m sorry, herdir.” Mablung’s voice was rough. “I... I shouldn’t like to serve you.”

Melkor was silent for a while. “You feel remorse because you didn’t want to go with these slaves.” Mablung stared at him. He knew about it? “Sinthoras told me. The whole story, not only what he wrote in his report. It reminded you that I’m your enemy and that you should submit to me grudgingly at most, but surely not as gladly as you do. Am I right?” Melkors voice was calm, factual, and Mablung couldn’t read in his music what he thought. “Yes, herdir”, he answered haltingly. He hoped, he wouldn’t be punished.

“Why do you think you are still here?” “I don’t know, herdir.” Mablung gulped. He was very aware that Melkor had often changed his slaves before him. “It puts me off when I constantly feel that my slave would very much like to stick a sword into me. I never feel your hate. You submit completely to me, with your whole being, and that pleases me. You see, it is what you think you mustn’t do that keeps you alive. I wish for you to remain like that.”

Melkors hand closed around his throat and squeezed. “I wouldn’t like to be forced to get rid of you because you think it would be more heroic to serve me with revulsion.” Mablung took a deep breath when his Master took his hand away. “Are you going to remain completely mine?”

“Yes, herdir.” He knew Melkor made no idle threats and although it didn’t dispel his shame completely, the knowledge that he hadn’t a choice calmed him. “Good.” His Master kissed him behind the ear. “I had thought your reasoning would have more effect on your behaviour. I’m glad that I don’t have to remind you who your Master is after I have been away so long. Mormirion has trained you well. Sleep now, nethben.”

 

 

Melkor felt his slave tense when the elves were brought in. He had pondered long if he should take him to court today. Would it strengthen his doubts or would it remind him that he hadn’t a choice? He wasn’t sure. The slaves were forced to their knees in front of him, none of them dared to look up. Sinthoras stepped forward to report, Melkor had permitted him to keep his slave out of it. There was no doubt what sentence they would get. All assembled expected him to declare their death.

He could feel it. Bloodthirst, fear, the desire for justice. Sinthoras’ flame burned hot with wrath, he thought that these elves had given his slave such notions. Although there were so much feelings in the room, he heard his own slave’s grief most keenly. He would never dare to ask for mercy but what he wished was clear. “Escape is punishable by death, these slaves have forfeited their lives.” If he showed mercy, Mablung would be grateful. His slave wouldn’t continue to think so damaging thoughts.

“Mormirion.” The Maia advanced reluctantly. He wouldn’t defy him but he didn’t want to carry out the sentence. “You and your men have served me well these past weeks.” They had escorted him and Melkor had been surprised how disciplined orcs could be. “I give these slaves’ lives to you. It is your decision what you do with them.” Mo bowed deeply. “Thank you, aranya. I’m proud that you appreciate my service. My men will be happy for this gift.” Melkor felt the unbelieving looks of his court an him when the slaves were led out – and he felt Mablung’s gratitude, that was worth every incredulous look, although he had only done it to bind the slave to him.

 

Sharû followed his general from the throne room, he didn’t need the senses of a Maia to know that he wasn’t happy with how things had gone. “The men will be happy to have their own slaves now”, he said when they reached their cave. Soldiers weren’t allowed to own slaves, because bloody quarrels had happened over slaves in the past. It was not forbidden to amuse themselves in the slave quarters off duty but to own slaves was something different. It had its privileges to serve the king directly.

Mo ordered the guards, who had brought the slaves, to lock them in the detention cell and turned to Sharû. “I know.” Mo sighed. “I just wonder if a fast death wouldn’t be more merciful. They must have known that the likelihood of being killed on the run was overwhelmingly high. They embraced the possibility.” “By your leave, general, you can’t kill them.” Sharû did understand Mo’s line of thought but the Maia had to know that the soldiers wouldn’t be robbed of their prize.

“The men will claim their right. I know why you chose them. It means you can be sure that they are going to act more disciplined and not as cruel as younger orcs but it doesn’t mean that they will reject such a gift or take kindly to being denied it.” “I’m aware of that, colonel.” Mo laid his hand on his shoulder. “Sharû, I know that I’m alone with my mindset. I can hardly ask of you something that even my brothers would think strange. No, I only thought aloud. I leave them in your hands. Don’t be too severe, they had their punishment in the dungeon, and let the shoulder of the blond one be treated, it looks dislocated.”

“I noticed.” Sharû searched Mo’s gaze. The Maia had changed much since they had served together in the mines. For some reason he thought of the slaves no longer as something to use. "Is none of them to your liking? The king has given them to you too.” Mo hesitated for a moment, Sharû could see that he fought with himself. Finally he nodded. “I’ll take the blonde with me. Fetch Karshek, I want him to reset his shoulder.”

 

Mo had acted on a gut feeling. His orcs were decent men, they all had enough elfblood in their veins to stick out, if one only knew what to look for, that’s why he chose them. But they would amuse themselves with these slaves. He couldn’t deny it to them, as much as he would have liked and he didn’t want to leave the elf there with his freshly reset shoulder. The elf held the injured arm close to his body.

Karshek had told Mo that the joint had been dislocated for a long time, maybe it would remain stiff. Mo trusted his opinion. The orc was familiar with injuries that could be inflicted in battle and he couldn’t ask Sinthoras. His friend believed these elves to have persuaded Galathil to flee, he wouldn’t help, on the contrary. In this case, Mo couldn’t count on him. He closed his door with a sigh and shut his eyes. “There’s warm water in the bathroom”, he said without looking at the elf. “Wash, we have to talk after.”

Maybe that was the right way. He couldn’t free the slaves and he mustn’t show too much sympathy, but he could help in small ways. Until now he had held back, he wasn’t general long enough to take liberties. But it was expected of him to own a slave. He would look for hurt elves and take them here until they were healed. He had felt what they felt and that had healed him for all time from the notion that they were made to serve him. Maybe he could divert some of his men’s rations, he had a margin in the requisition.

To give out food would be easy, he had the command over the guards of the slave quarters. The elf knelt beside him. He was pale with pain and trembled. “You don’t need to fear me”, Mo said softly. “I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?” “Lisvan, herdir.” “I know that you are in pain, Lisvan, and you possibly haven’t had a good rest since you were captured. I want you to lie down and sleep.” The elf stared at him. “In... your bed, herdir?”, he asked haltingly. “You can sleep on the couch if you like it better. I have to go now, I need to work.”

He had been gone for two months, the reports would pile on his desk. He could hear that Lisvan didn’t trust his words but he was too tired to be much frightened. Slowly, as if he feared a fast movement of his would make Mo change his mind, he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long until Mo felt that he slept. Mo stood up and sighed, it wasn’t even midday and the day already felt endless. He hoped his men wouldn’t go too far with the elves but he trusted Sharû to intervene if it got too rough. You wouldn’t believe it, if you saw him, but he had a good heart.

 

Melkor stretched his tired muscles. The throne wasn’t comfortable and the crown cut into his forehead, pain throbbed behind his temples. His subjects knelt when he stood up, he needn’t say that the audience was over. It had been a long day, many things had piled up in his absence that Sinthoras couldn’t or didn’t want to decide. He had been a worthy regent nonetheless. He had had thought about calling back Artano, he had ruled Angband once before but he hadn’t forgiven him yet.

His slave followed him without him having to order it. He could feel that the elf was deep in thoughts, he had been since he had shown mercy to the slaves, but Melkor couldn’t see what he thought. He could have read his thoughts but he didn’t do it often, among other reasons because it became increasingly difficult. For the moment it was enough for him to know that he seemed to be at peace with himself. He didn’t sound like he was brooding.

Melkor took off the crown and rubbed the pressure sore on his brow. Although he didn’t touch the Silmaril directly, they gave him pain. Still, he wouldn’t be deterred from wearing them, to show everyone what he had won. He looked down on his scarred hand. What did the slave feel when he touched him with it? Was he disgusted by him? He didn’t show it - neither hatred, nor revulsion - but that he must feel so was completely clear to Melkor. He was at odds with his fate, wasn’t that proof enough? He clenched his fist when a sharp pain shot through his soul. He would remind him of his place. “Wait at the cross, slave”, he ordered in a harsh voice. Today he savoured the flash of fear in his slave’s music.

 

Mablung whimpered when his Master untied him, his back was bloody. He didn’t know what had made his Master so angry, it had been so sudden. He hadn’t done anything. He had even considered how he could thank him for showing mercy for the slaves, but his Master hadn’t given him an opportunity. But Melkor didn’t need a reason to beat him, he was his slave after all.

It had been long since he had been so violent, in fact Mablung had always waited for it. Maybe now his Master had reached the end of his patience. Mablung’s heart skipped a beat when his Master lifted him up and carried him to the sleeping room. He had never before done this when he had beaten him so bad, he had had been lucky Before if his Master had untied him when he was finished.

Mablung closed his eyes, he was exhausted and his Master didn’t sound angry anymore, he couldn’t read more from his music at the moment. The welts flared up when his Master dabbed the blood from his back, he wouldn't have done this Before, too. No, it wasn’t like Before anymore, at least he hoped so. His Master caressed his cheek. “Sleep, slave”, he murmured. “I’m satisfied for today.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Melkor stopped in the doorway, surprised, when he saw his slave kneeling at his place, a whip on his uplifted hands. He had overreacted yesterday, his anger had gotten the better of him. The slave offered himself to him, wasn’t that proof enough that he knew his place very well? He shouldn’t doubt him. Whatever he might think secretly, he was an obedient slave.

Melkor took the whip, blood would flow again if he used it. His slave had to know that. Did he still expect him to treat him as in the beginning? The thought stung, but was it really surprising that the slave didn’t trust him? Melkor’s gaze darted to his back where the scabbed welts looked almost black on his pale skin. Deep in thoughts he hung the whip on its peg and sat down to eat. His slave came to him when he called, Melkor could hear his astonishment.

He fed him in silence. What could he have said? He wouldn’t apologize. Why should he? And he couldn’t explain something to him that he didn’t understand himself. Something, he shied away from to look at. It was simple, really. He had been angry yesterday and it didn’t hurt to remind his slave from time to time that he was dependent on his mercy. He had no desire to hurt him so much today. He would beat him, but he wouldn’t let him bleed.

 

Mablung was relieved that his Master had put the whip away. He would have born it but it would have been bad. His back throbbed painfully even when he didn't move. He hoped that the fact that his Master hadn’t taken him up on his offer meant that he wouldn’t be rough today. “Lie on the bed, your feet hanging over the mattress.” What a strange order. What was he up to? Mablung laid his forehead on his crossed arms and waited.

His Master caressed his backside with a cane before he struck him. Mablung closed his eyes and yielded to the rhythm of the strokes. He liked the sound the cane made when it cut through the air. It was different from yesterday. His Master didn’t beat his back and the strokes weren’t too hard. Mablung moaned softly, his arousal rubbed against the linen of the blanket as he moved with the slaps.

He almost jerked his foot back when his Master dragged the end of the cane down his sole. He tensed, surely he had noticed his twitching, but his Master sounded more amused than angry. “While I was with the humans, I attended the punishment of a servant.” His Master spoke with soft, dark voice that made Mablung shiver pleasantly. He pushed against the hand that squeezed his buttock and savoured the sharp pain.

“I don’t remember why he was punished but that isn’t important anyway. What intrigued me was the manner of his punishment.” Again he ran the cane down his sole. “Have you ever been beaten on the soles, slave?” “No, herdir.” Mablung gulped and curled his toes instinctively, it would hurt much more than the strokes to his backside. “Then it is new for both of us. Close your legs.” Mablung lay with spread legs, as always, but now he closed them as ordered.

The pain shot through his body like lightning. He took a sharp breath, almost a scream. Usually he had the instinctive reactions of his body under control, but now his muscles tensed. Mablung closed his eyes tightly and forced himself to relax. Although his Master had spoken of punishment he knew that this wasn’t one. His Master just wanted to try something new – and he took his time.

He kneaded Mablung’s thighs between strokes, caressed the stripes on his backside, gave him pleasure where the pain could have been overbearing. Soon Mablung longed for the lightning that shot through his body when the cane kissed his soles. “Do you like it, slave?”, his Master whispered into his ear and gently caressed his sweaty hair from his neck before he kissed his skin. “Yes, herdir”, Mablung moaned.

His Masters fingers ghosted tenderly down his sore back and penetrated him. Mablung pushed against them. He wanted him so much! “On your knees, slave.” He could feel his Master’s smile. Mablung scrambled up and spread his legs. He moaned when his Master smacked his smarting backside.

“There’s nothing more arousing than to thrust between your glowing buttocks after I've beaten you”, Melkor growled into his ear and bit his neck while he entered him slowly. Mablung shuddered uncontrolled, if he hadn’t been trained for years to come only at an order this words would have been enough.

 

 

“Russandol, are you my father?” Sinthoras stared at the girl dumbfounded, but he could understand that she had conceived the idea. She was often at his home even when her mother didn’t have a visit from an orc – and she was old enough anyway to know what happened. Old enough to experience it, too? Sinthoras was sure that no one would dare to touch her, it was well known that he had an eye on her.

“No”, he answered. “I’m not.” But maybe... If he adopted her, he could protect her better. She could live with him. “Why am I here then?” She lifted her chin defiantly, but Sinthoras saw that her hands trembled. She had never been frightened of him before. He took her hands in his, her fingers were icy cold. “I like you, Silwen. Yes, maybe I feel for you like a father would. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Silwen lowered her head embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to insult you.” “You haven’t. I can understand it. If it isn’t one thing it must be the other.” Sinthoras smiled bitterly. “You aren’t my daughter, but you could be if you want.” “How do you mean that?” She looked at him wide-eyed. “Well, as your natural father doesn’t seem to have an interest in you, I would be glad to fill that gap. I could acknowledge you as my child.

You could live here, I have a spare room. You wouldn’t have to work and no one would dare to treat you in a way you don’t want. I could teach you to use the legacy of your father.” He summoned a flame between his hand and hers. “You are like me.” “And emya? Can she live here to?” Sinthoras hesitated for a moment. It would complicate the matter but he couldn’t very well separate her from her mother.

“I think that can be arranged. But... maybe I’ll have to speak derogatory of her. No one must think that I have affection for her. She is a slave.” “But I’m too”, she said softly. “No” Sinthoras caressed her cheek. “You have maia-blood and my daughter isn’t a slave. Your amille will lack nothing but I can’t free her.” Silwen nodded and worried her lower lip with her teeth, then she kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, atya.” Sinthoras felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with his fire. He never would have thought that to be called 'dad' could feel so good. Maybe there would be problems, Melkor surely would address the matter, but that wasn’t important. What objections could his Master have? It didn’t concern the kingdom, Melkor would let him have his way.

 

 

_200 F.A._

“You sent for me?” Sinthoras looked up from his books and shot such a pointed look at him that Mo cringed. “You play a dangerous game, Mormirion.” “I don’t know what you mean.” It gave Mo a chill. If Sinthoras told Melkor, he would lose his command. He wouldn’t have thought that his friend was against it. “You think I don’t see that you order more food than your soldiers can ever eat? You feed the slaves, don’t you? One could question your loyalty. Be glad that I don’t think that way.”

Mo sighed relieved. “You frightened me for a moment.” “A little punishment for not telling me.” Sinthoras grinned at him. “Why didn’t you confide in me?” “Because I wasn’t sure what I’m doing. And I know it is dangerous. I don’t want to drag you into something that might cost you Melkor’s friendship.” “I don’t think, Melkor would hold it against me. Maybe I could even get him on our side if I find him in the right mood.” Mo shook his head. “Please don’t. I don’t think he would be pleased.”

“As you wish. But I want to do my share. It’s right to give them more to eat but to settle it officially would cause an outcry of epic proportions from our brothers. They think the slaves are lazy if they aren’t hungry.” “I know.” Mo sighed. “What a nonsense. I’m glad that you think so, too.” They had already lost their freedom, why must they make their lives a living hell?

“By the way, you’re doing well. Since your men guard the quarters it is much quieter. I had my doubts when you told me your theory but you were right. I wouldn’t have thought that orcs can be so disciplined. You are envied for them.” “I know.” Mo smiled. He had acquired a reputation because he could keep orcs in their place. None of his brothers saw that he chose his men very carefully. For them, each orc was the same. Unreliable, not trustworthy.

“They are my men, they are utterly loyal. They know that I show them more regard than anyone else would. I made Sharû a colonel, where else could that happen? They would do everything for me.” This loyalty had surprised him too, he hadn’t expected it. “Even share their food with slaves? You are lucky that Artano isn’t here.” “You don’t know _how_ glad I am.” Mo bit his tongue when Sinthoras’ gaze became inquiring. It was of no concern to him.

“Considering that you followed him to Melkor, you dislike him remarkably”, his friend commented. “Opinions change.” His back had healed long ago, he could have even let the scars vanish, but he didn’t want to. They reminded him why he hated slavery. If it were in his power, he would have set the elves free, but he couldn’t tell Sinthoras _that_ , of course. “Will you be my guest for dinner, Sinthoras?” He felt lonely and he didn’t have an injured slave at home, it was save to invite him. Did he know of that, too? “Gladly, Mo.” Mo stood up and bowed. “I’ll see you later, Sinthoras.”

 

“No slave?”, Sinthoras asked when Mo opened the door himself. Mo shrugged. “I grow tired of them fast and then I let them go. I don’t have one at the moment.” “But isn’t it tiresome to lay down your rules all over again each time.” “Not really. It isn’t as if I have very unusual wishes.” It was astonishingly difficult to get the fact across to them that he didn’t want them. “I hope, you don’t mind to serve yourself.” Sinthoras shook his head. “I think, I’ll manage.” He winked at him.

While they ate, they talked about the options they had to make the slaves’ lives easier. Mo had responsibility for everything that concerned them, but he couldn’t act to openly in their favour. He had to be careful already with handing out the food. “Their huts are badly in need of mending. These shacks collapse regularly or catch fire.”

Sinthoras pondered it for a moment. He was quartermaster, this was his field of duty, too. “I might be able to make it palatable to Melkor if I tell him that they can work more if they aren’t busy building new huts. I’ll talk to him alone, he will refuse at court.” “Possibly.” Mo took a sip. “Sometimes I look at our brothers and wonder what I’m doing here.” Sinthoras lifted his eyebrows. “Dangerous thoughts. Why are you telling me?”

“Because I trust you.” Mo rubbed his temples. “Don’t get me wrong. I would never betray Melkor. He respects me, he trust me, it is more than Aule ever did. But all this...” Mo looked into his cup. “It’s wrong”, he whispered. “The elves are our enemies but to humiliate them so is wrong.” “You have no objections against a slave in your bed.”

“You’re right, I never had a problem to have my way with them and I’m ashamed of it, Sinthoras. It nauseates me to think what I did, how I forced them. I... do you never ask yourself what your Galathil thinks of you? What he thinks when you rape him?” “I don’t rape him!”, Sinthoras snapped and Mo knew he had touched a sore spot.

“But you do, Sinthoras”, he said gently. “I know, you aren’t brutal, but you force him. Maybe he doesn’t fight but just because he knows that it’s no use. He isn’t free. And that’s what I mean. To use the working power of prisoners is one thing. To rape them, to take something that is so meaningful to them, is something completely different. You can’t imagine how it is to...” Mo stopped and closed his eyes.

“What happened to you, brother?” Mo felt Sinthoras’ soul feel for his and shrank back. But he had said too much already. “You know Artano. You know why Melkor sent him away. Who, do you think had to pay for it when he had now slaves in reach?” He shut his eyes tight to stop his tears from falling, he had no right to cry, he was here of his own free will after all.

“He wanted me, from the beginning, that was why he asked me to come with him. He feigned to see an equal in me because he knew that I longed for attention, but he looked down at me. He implicated it, but he never dared to force me while Melkor was still here. After the Valar took him captive, Artano could do what he wanted. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and I knew that I was no match for him.

It was bearable as long as he had slaves to use, although he let me feel his contempt, but when we were alone... _I_ was his slave. The truth is, I didn’t touch a slave since Melkor ordered me back to Angband. How could I do something to them that I hated so much myself? I swore to myself that I won’t touch someone against his will ever again. I’m better than Sauron.” “Mo...” Sinthoras hadn’t said a word while he spoke and Mo was thankful for it. “Why didn’t you say something. Melkor...”

Mo laughed bitterly. “What do you think, Melkor would have done, if my word stood against Artano’s? And even if he had believed me, Artano would have found a way to get his revenge. You won’t tell Melkor, I don’t want him to know – or anyone else. And I do not want to talk about it, everything’s said.” “That’s why it is so important for you to help the slaves. What did you do with the ones you brought here?”

“They were injured, they wouldn’t have survived without help. I tended to their wounds and gave them a place to sleep, nothing more.” “You have a good heart, Mo.” Sinthoras looked away. “You are better than me. I can’t set Galathil free, as much as he means to me. I want to have him near me. I wish... sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the Valar had left Melkor alone. The war and the years in captivity changed him so much. It isn’t the elves’ fault, they just were in the way.”

 

~*~*~

 

Mo knocked at Sinthoras’ door that was opened by Silwen. “Good evening, Mo.” “Excuse me for interrupting, Silwen. Is your father at home?” He had taught her at Sinthoras’ request when  it became clear that her instrument was the flute. She didn’t need a teacher anymore. “No, he isn’t back yet, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Why don’t you come in?” She stepped back and led him to the fireplace, there was always a fire in Sinthoras’ rooms.

He saw the door to the sleeping room close. Galathil. The elf still feared him, although Mo avoided to even look at him. “Would you like some wine, Mo?” “Thank you.” Mo nodded and sat down in one of the deep chairs. “How are you, sister?” She looked surprised. “Sister?” “You are half-Maia, we are all siblings.” He had always called her hína, but she wasn’t a child anymore as he noticed with a suddenness that threw him off course.

Fortunately, Silwen spoke again. “Thank you, Mo. Sometimes I don’t know where I belong. And I have the feeling that atya tries to confine me here.” “He’s only worrying and he isn’t completely wrong.” Mo knew that Sinthoras was worried that someone would think her a slave. To most orcs all elves looked alike. “I know – and I’m grateful but I can defend myself. He taught me, he should know what I can do.” She shrugged smiling. “But I shouldn’t complain. I was lucky, I’m aware of that.”

“Who is complaining?” Sinthoras stepped beside her and kissed her cheek. “Good evening, Silwen. Good evening, Mo. What brings you here?” Mo shot a glance in Silwen’s direction, she needn’t hear everything. “I heard, Melkor wants to call back someone we both don’t care to see again. We should talk.” Sinthoras sat down opposite him. “Silwen, leave us please.” Her eyes became blue slits and Mo almost expected her to object but she stood up. “Of course, father.”

Sinthoras made a gesture at his side and looked surprised. “Where is Galathil?” Mo was sure that the elf knelt beside him normally. “Sleeping room.” Mo motioned to the door. “He didn’t care for my company.” Sinthoras groaned. “Let him be, Sinthoras, no offence taken.” “I know and I’ll let it go but it bothers me. You are concerned about Artano?” Mo nodded. “Our brothers might not care for our activities, but I’m sure that he’ll take issue. He could give us a lot of problems.”

Sinthoras shook his head. “He won’t. Melkor has ordered him here, yes, it’s about a new undertaking I don’t know more about. Machines and such things, but he won’t be here long. Melkor only wants to show him that he is in his good graces again.” Mo grumbled thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if I like that better, but I guess it is better than to have him around all the time.” Sinthoras nodded. “We’ll have to be careful as long as he is here. You are right, it’s better if he doesn’t find out what we are doing. What do you think of Silwen?”

Mo blinked, startled about the sudden change of topic. “She is a endearing girl”, he answered cautiously. “A young woman, Mo.” “What is that supposed to mean, Sinthoras?” Mo looked warily at him. “Do you want to pair me off with her?” “Would you mind? I know you are lonely, Mo. She isn’t a slave and she likes you very much.” “I like her too, Sinthoras, just not like that.” Mo took a gulp of his wine. “How old is she again?” “Fifty-four. Of age in the perception of her people.” “Still, very young.”

Sinthoras sighed. “We both know that she isn’t my natural daughter. It is an open secret and most of our brothers don’t understand why I did acknowledge her. Maybe I can’t always protect her. I want her to have someone who is truly connected with her, who has a claim on her.” “I understand. You only want the best for her.” Mo pondered his answer carefully. “I need to get used to the thought, I always saw her as a child, your daughter. I’ll think about it. Don’t tell her. If I decide to court her, I’ll do it my way.”

He had to think of Tinwelóte, something he hadn’t done in a long time. But was that surprising? There had been women in his life before her but not after. At first he had mourned for what could have been and later he had been all too aware that a slave might get pregnant. He hadn’t dared to risk it – and there were only men in the mines anyway. Silwen was... she was the daughter of his best friend. He liked her, but until now he hadn’t thought of her as someone he might have sex with.

 

“Where are we going?” Silwen’s hand lay on his arm, he could feel her warmth through the fabric. “You’ll see when we get there.” Mo winked at her. He was sure that she didn’t know the place. Had she ever seen grass, living nature, in her life? She was born in Angband. It was far from where they lived but finally they reached the exit to Mórhuin’s Dale. Mo was sure that his brother wouldn’t have objections against them coming here, he could feel him at the other end of the valley.

He opened the heavy door that closed the entrance to the mountain with a key that only Melkor himself and his generals were allowed to have and invited Silwen with a bow to go through. He could feel her amazement clearly. “How beautiful!”, she exclaimed. Mo locked the door carefully and turned around to take in the view. They stood elevated and looked down into the softly slanting valley. The grass sparkled in a fresh green, laced with flowers. A jewel set in the cold, black stone of the mountains around them.

Mo smiled at Silwen’s rapt looks. “Come, let us go down.” A stair, cut from the rock, led down to the grass. “It is exactly as in the stories”, Silwen said. “So green and full of live.” She stopped in the hip-high grass, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “How much can you feel?”, Mo asked interested. He didn’t know exactly how sharp her senses were. She was a gifted musician, unsurprisingly, and she could control fire but they spoke Quenya. Silwen could speak Valarin but it cost her an effort, she didn’t understand it as intuitively as Mo.

“I can hear you and someone who is farther away.” She looked down the valley. “That’s Mórhuin. He is a Maia, but for some reason he likes to live in the shape of a horse.” Silwen nodded slowly. “I can hear the life, all the animals that live here, I’ve never felt anything like it, it isn’t clear.” Silwen frowned. “Like music from far away. I can’t separate the single beings, it’s all one.” She looked at him.

“It’s still hard. I can hear other people’s feelings as far as I can think back but since atya teaches me, my sense get sharper. It’s... distracting. Doesn’t it bother you? You must feel it much more clearly than me.” “It is hard to explain.” Mo thought about it while they walked. “No, it doesn’t bother me. My body and what I can feel with it... I decided to wear it. My natural sense is the Music. It is my primal state and that on which I can always rely on. My eyes might deceive me, my ears only hear what someone is ready to tell, but the Music doesn’t lie. I look like an elf but when you hear me you wouldn’t take me for one.”

Silwen smiled a him. “You are right. No one who can hear this would mistake you for an elf. Thank you for bringing me here. It's wonderful.” Mo bowed to her. "My pleasure. I like to come here when I have to think." He could forget everything for a while, when he walked through Mórhuin's dale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> emya - mum  
> amille - mother  
> atya - dad


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

Garam braced himself against the smooth wood, dark of the slaves’ sweat who worked at the mill, his naked toes scraped along the stone tiles of the floor, slowly the wheel gained momentum. When the mill had stood still it was worst, to set it into motion took more strength then to keep it running. They grinded ore that came from the mines so it could be worked into steel. Sweat ran down his naked skin.

It was a monotonous work, the boom of the hammers in his ears, now and then the crack of a whip if a slave slowed. On Garam’s shoulders burned welts, too. “Position twelve! Change!” Garam left his place to another slave and looked surprised at the overseer. Every minute at the mill could feel like an eternity but he was sure that it wasn’t yet time for a break. The orc beckoned him over, a black-haired elf in an uniform stood next to him.

No, not an elf. Maia. Garam knelt, his head bowed low. What had he done to attract the attention of one of them? It didn’t bode well for him! “Is this the one you're searching, General?”, the overseer asked. “We’ll see. Are you the one, they call Garam, slave?” “Yes, Master.” “Follow me.” Garam hurried to leap to his feet. General. Was _this_ Mormirion? He followed the Maia from the steelmill his step halting when he realised that the Maia led him in an area were a slave had no place. He never had set foot into the real Angband, where the Masters lived, before.

“Do you know your father, Garam?” “No, Master.” Garam gritted his teeth. “He doesn’t even know that I live, I think.” “Oh, he does”, the Maia answered softly. “What’s your name? Garam won’t be the name your mother gave you.” Garam’s cheeks felt hot, he was glad that he walked behind the Maia and he couldn’t see his face. He was a half-breed and that showed clearly, his name meant exactly that.

“I don’t want to talk about my mother. Garam is all right.” His mother had died when he was a child. She had called him Lantelen, shooting star, but no one else. He was alone since her death. The other slaves wanted no business with him because he was half orc, they feared him to be a spy, and the soldiers didn’t want him because he was half elf, he was a slave for them. The Maia turned around surprised. “Is this courage or rebelliousness?”

“Forgive me, Master. I don’t want to defy you but I don’t want to talk about it.” Garam sweated, slaves were punished for lesser offences. “As you wish.” The Maia shrugged. “We’ll keep it that way for now.” He opened a door and beckoned Garam to sit. He himself took a seat behind the desk. Garam lowered his gaze embarrassed. He felt misplaced in his dirty loincloth and he was sure that he stank. What did the Maia want with him?

“My name is Mormirion, you might have heard of me.” Garam nodded, of course he had. Since the General Mormirion commanded the guard, there were less deaths among the slave and their rations had been raised. “You probably ask yourself why you are here. You don’t need to be frightened. Your father is one of my men, he called you to my attention.” Garam lifted his head surprised. His father had never shown interest in him all this years. Why should he concern himself with a slavewoman’s child?

There were enough slaves with orc-blood in their veins, he had only the bad luck that he looked like one. No one would ever mistake him for an elf. “He watched you, if you are worth it. I have a choice for you, Garam. You have the dubious luck to look like your father. I’m sure that was a burden until now but it gives you the opportunity to be something else than a slave. Many of my soldiers have one or more elves as kin and I search for such soldiers. You could belong to them if you want.”

Garam couldn’t breathe. He had been a slave his whole life, he had known that he wouldn’t grow old, that he would just collapse and die without anyone noticing and now the general offered him a way out of this life that wasn’t a life. “Do you really mean this, Master? I can be free?” The general nodded. “You can decide to serve me and gain your freedom. My men will accept you. It won’t be easy, you aren’t a soldier, you’ll have to learn much, but...”

“I have never had an easy life. You saw where I work, nothing there is easy. I’ll take your offer, Master.” The general smiled at him. “I’m pleased. Come, I’ll introduce you to your comrades.” “Won’t they mind that I’m a slave.” “Was. And no, they won’t. You aren’t the first slave I recruit. They got used to it.”

 

~*~*~

 

Mo watched his men at their daily exercise. They were well trained and he was proud of them. His gaze caught on Garam, he already trained with the veteran soldiers. “What brings you here, General?” Sharû came over and followed his gaze. “He’s good. Only a half-year and he fights like he was born to it. He’s a soldier, I wonder how he hid it so long.” “That’s perfect. I need a new adjutant after Erdriz caught an arrow last fight.”

“And you want him?” Sharû threw him a surprised look. “Isn’t he a bit inexperienced?” “You said yourself that he is a fast learner.” Mo smiled when Garam threw his opponent out of balance with a fast attack. “It was only a few months back that he was given a sword and now he fights with the best soldiers of Angband.”

Sharû smiled awry. “On his first evening a few of the lads tried to cheat him at dice, you know how they get with the new ones. He noticed, they argued, a blade was drawn. I didn’t see it myself but apparently he acted so fast that he disarmed his opponent and knocked him down before anyone could intervene. No one underestimated him afterwards. He was a slave, but I doubt that he ever was helpless.”

“So you would admit him to the First Guard?” “Of course, there’s no doubt about it.” “Good. Do you know if he can read.” “Yes, he can. To be honest, I thought about grooming him as a captain.” Sharû winked. “But I suppose that is obsolete if you want him.” Mo laughed. “I understand. And I’m glad that he is so promising. I don’t want to dispatch him to the slave guard.” Only the best recruits were incorporated into the First Guard who protected Melkor. The others Mo had made officers of the guards of the slave quarters.

“It is all so well attuned at the moment. A former slave that is suddenly officer would only cause trouble.” “I think he’s of the same opinion. He knows that he has to work hard if he wants to remain here, that’s why he throws himself into the training. Take him, you won’t regret your choice.” Mo thanked Sharû with a nod. He appreciated his opinion, his colonel knew his men quite well. He waited until the men finished their training for the day then he called Garam over, he had stubbornly insisted on the name.

“Did you regret your choice, Garam?” “No, General, not once.” Garam saluted. “I’m pleased to hear that. I hear much praise about you and because my adjutant died in the last fight I want to make you his successor.” Garam stared at him. “Me? But...” “You proved that you are ready to work hard.”

He had been underfed and intimidated when he had brought him here half a year earlier, now a muscular soldier stood before him who didn’t shy away from looking him in the eye. “Colonel Sharû says that you can read and write. I’m aware that you don’t know how to keep accounts but most of the others don’t know either. You seem to be clever. So yes, I want you.” “I’m honoured, General.” Garam bowed. “What do you want me to do?” “Fetch your things. You are moving.”

 

 

_250 F.A._

“That’s beautiful.” Silwen slipped the silver bracelet over her hand and admired the rubies. “I’m glad that you like it.” Mo smiled. He had decided to court Silwen but he would do it the right way. She should know him before she had to make a decision. “I only wonder...” Silwen sighed and looked away. “What? What is it?” “It’s because of the slaves who have to suffer so I can wear this jewellery.” Mo stared at her, he hadn’t thought about it.

“I understand. You don’t want it?” How could she ever like him if he made such mistakes? “I want it, it is beautiful. I know that everything I own is only possible because there are slaves. But... when I see such luxury, I ask myself if I can life like this. I’m just a slave myself.” “No, you aren’t. You are Sinthoras’ daughter, no one would dare to call you a slave.”

Silwen smiled. “It’s nice of you to say this but I know how they look at me if atya isn’t watching. I don’t know where I belong, Mo. I’m not a slave anymore, that’s true, but I’m only half Maia. I wouldn’t be free if it weren’t for Sinthoras. You are different, you always treat me as an equal. And you don’t own slaves, you help them. Mother still works in the kitchen, she says, they call you _As_ _ea Mahan_. They know what you are doing for them.”

Mo looked down embarrassed. “I don’t do much.” “You save lives!” Her fingers caressed Mo’s cheek. “What’s tormenting you, Mo?” “Dinner is ready.” Mo sighed relieved when Sinthoras came in and saved him from having to explain himself. Mo rolled his eyes when he saw Galathil’s suffering gaze and heard his fear. He never had done anything to the elf but Galathil treated him as if he feared that he would rape him if he came too close.

He didn’t say anything because he knew that Sinthoras would feel compelled to punish him. Galathil’s hand trembled when he poured him wine, a drop fell an Mo’s skin. “Galathil, behave!”, Sinthoras snapped. Mo shook his head. “No harm done.” He licked the drop from his hand and continued in Valarin: “Dismiss him, brother, it’s no use. Don’t you see how frightened he is?” “Come to me, slave.”

Sinthoras petted his head. “Why this fear? Mormirion won’t hurt you. Go to bed.” Galathil stood up and went gladly into the sleeping room. Sinthoras watched him with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry”, he said to Mormirion. “That was unseemly for a slave.” “No offence taken. He is frightened, I can understand that. Don’t be so harsh with him.” Sinthoras laughed. “You sound like Silwen.” He smiled warmly at his daughter.

“You should know that I treat him well and am lenient. Every other master would have punished him.” “I know.” Mo shuddered when he remembered his own reactions from years past. He hadn’t always been so understanding. _Asea Mahan_ , the benevolent Master, he hadn’t known that they called him this. But it was true what Silwen said, word got around that he helped injured slaves. Only a week ago two elves had brought a comrade with a broken leg to him and begged him for help. He hadn’t sent them away, of course.

 

“You are always so kind to Galathil”, Silwen said later when she saw him off. Sinthoras had left them. “Thank you.” “I don’t have a reason to treat him ill.” “You are the only one that thinks so. Father’s other guests often make him weep and father doesn’t do anything to stop them.” “It isn’t so easy for him. He mustn’t allow him to refuse to obey. Sinthoras is very lenient, he doesn’t like to hurt Galathil.”

Silwen looked at him thoughtfully. “Why are you so different? Even father, although he is such a friendly person, has a slave and takes it for granted that he obeys. You let Galathil get away with everything, you’ve never touched him. You don’t have your own slave either, you say you don’t desire it. Why? Shouldn’t it be normal for you?” Mo didn’t look at her. What should he say?

“I had slaves, in the beginning, and I liked it. But then something happened that made me think about it. When I imagine to force someone to do such things, I feel sick and I wonder how I could ever do this with a clear conscience. What people this must be who can do it and I don’t exclude Sinthoras either, although I’m sure he feels deeply for Galathil.” Silwen stared at him. “What happened to you that you think so?” “I don’t want to talk about it, Silwen.” Mo swallowed hard. “Please don’t ask.”

Silwen’s eyes seemed to look deep into his soul. “Did you ever regret to have followed Melkor?” Mo hesitated and was conscious that his hesitation might be answer enough. “No, it was the right decision. I wanted to be free, and I am. More free than I would have been in Aule’s service. But I miss Aule’s kindness and sometimes I ask myself if the price for my freedom wasn’t too high, for myself and for others.”

“You are so kind, Mo.” Silwen embraced him. “And you give me so much time. You know, the day when you brought me to the green valley, I would have allowed you to do everything with me.” Mo laid his hand at the small of her back. “Everything is a lot.” He smiled at her. No, he wouldn’t let her see his darker preferences. But she was right, he had taken his time, she surely knew what his interest in her amounted to. She shouldn’t have wrong expectations.

“As you address the matter. What I have to say to you isn’t romantic, Silwen. I like you, yes it is a kind of love but I’m not an elf, I’ll never share your soul as it is the custom of the people of your mother. We Maiar don’t bind ourselves for eternity. We are together as long as we both want it and part ways when we do no longer. I’m going to look after you and I will never hurt you. I will give you as much love as I can and regardless of what might happen, you will always have a friend in me. Is that enough for you, Silwen?”

She gave him a long look, as if she could read something in his face that wasn’t in his music. “Yes, Mo, it’s enough.” Mo smiled tenderly and kissed her. Mo felt warm all over, it had been so long since he had been with someone who meant something to him – whom _he_ meant something to. “We should speak with your father.”

 

~*~*~

 

Mo closed the door behind the last guest and looked at Silwen. She wore a dress of dark-red velvet, fine gold threads glinted in the candlelight. She had sewn it herself. “Well?” He came over and filled her glass. “Do you want to get me drunk, Mo?”, she asked with an uncertain laugh. Mo sipped on his own glass. “Drunk? No. But I think a little alcohol might lessen your fear.” “I’m not frightened.” Silwen turned the cup in her hands. “I’m just nervous.”

Mo sat on the couch and patted on the cushion beside him. “Sit with me, Silwen. Is it the first time?” She had been a child when Sinthoras took her to live with him, but orcs often didn’t care about age. Not his men, but still... “Yes. Father had an eye on me. His reputation protected me even before I lived with him.” “Good.” Mo closed his eyes. “I’m relieved that you didn’t need to suffer this.” He put his cup on the table and took her hands in his.

“Do you fear me for what I am?” “No, Mo, I trust you. I... of course I know that you are Melkor’s general and when I was a child I was taught to fear you. The stories aren’t very favourable. But I always knew you as Mo. You have always been different from the other Maiar that visited father. You are a good person. No, I don't fear you.” She looked at their hands.

“But it _is_ the first time. Mother says it is going to bleed.” Mo kissed her forehead. “I can only promise you to be gentle and that you are going to experience it as something pleasurable, given time. Maybe not the first time, your body isn’t used to it.” Silwen leaned against him. “I know you are going to be patient.” “Always.” Mo caressed her spine, his fingers searched for the fastenings of the dress, his lips found Silwen’s.

 

Silwen opened her eyes sleepily. Mo had a sleeping room with a window and grey morning light found its way to the bed. A dull pain sat deep inside her when she sat up. It had hurt but Mo had kept his word and what he had done before and after had compensated her for the pain. “Good morning, melda.” Mo came in with a tray, he was already fully dressed, and put it down on the bed. “Breakfast in bed?” Silwen took a piece of pastry. “I could get used to this.”

Mo sat down beside her. “How do you feel?”, he asked with a searching look. “I’m fine, Mo. It was... better than I thought.” “I’m relieved.” Mo took a small wooden box from his pocket. “I have a present for you, Silwen.” A key lay on a black velvet cushion. “What is that?” “If you get up and dress, I can show you.” Mo smiled mysteriously. Silwen let him help her dress. She could feel his anticipation. “You have too much fun with this secret”, she said laughing.

“I just look forward to your reaction.” Silwen put her hand at his elbow and let him lead the way. An orc, who had waited outside the door, followed them. Silwen turned around surprised and Mo stopped. “I should have introduced you. This is Garam, my adjutant, you are going to find him often in my company. Silwen, my partner.” The orc bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you”, he said with a warm voice.

Silwen saw now that his facial features were softer than it was common for orcs, his eyes were leaf-green. “The pleasure is mine.” He spoke Quenya with a Sindarin accent, had his mother been an elf? To her surprise Mo lead he down where the slave quarters were. What did they do here? They stopped in front of a door that was guarded by two orcs, Mo sent them away.

“The key belongs to this lock, Silwen.” It took Silwen two tries to open the door, her hands shook. “What’s this?” She stood in a room full of food. “My present for you. This food is going to be given out to the slaves in the next seven days. Is it to your liking?” “Oh, Mo!” Silwen flung her arms around his neck. He had understood what would make her happy, that such a present would mean more to her than gold or jewels. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” Mo embraced her and smiled.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

_310 F.A._

Silwen felt bad. Mo did so much for her, he was an attentive partner, a sweet lover, but he wasn’t the One. He had told her but she hadn’t believed him then, she had been in love and had thought that he would fall in love with her too, but he had been right. Not that their relationship wasn’t loving, but now that she knew how the one true love felt...

Garam embraced her when she sobbed. “Hush, Silwen, it’s okay.” She could feel him, much more distinctly than usual. Could he feel it too? She had liked him from the first moment and because he was so much in Mo’s company she had come to know him. He had told her his story and she had told him hers and somehow they had fallen in love. He had been reluctant, hadn’t been able to believe that an elf could love someone who looked like him.

But Silwen had only seen the beauty of his soul and now it had happened. She had cheated Mo with his adjutant, even worse, she had just married him. “We have to tell him!”, she sobbed. Garam’s hands closed tighter around her. “He’s going to kill me. We can’t tell him!” Silwen shook her head. “He is going to realise it the moment he sees us. Can’t you feel it? We are One.” Garam blinked dumbfounded, then his eyes filled with tears. Silwen wondered for a dreadful moment if he had never meant this to happen. Had he only played with her?

“I never dreamed that I could love like this. I thought, I wasn’t able to. Yes, Silwen, I can feel it. But what are we going to do now?” He stood up and dressed hurriedly. “We have to go.” His eyes were fierce. “We are going to run! No one will find us. I know the tunnels and I’m his adjutant. I’ll think something up so they let us through.” He spoke more to himself than to her. “Yes, yes that’s how we do it”, he murmured while he closed his swordbelt.

Silwen got out of the bed and embraced him. “Relax, Garam. He said himself that Maiar are only together as long as they both want to. They don’t love like elves. He will let me go.” Garam shook his head. “You never saw him furious, did you? And you don’t want to, believe me. We just betrayed him. In his bed! Do you really want to convince me that he is just going to shrug it off?”

“It was wrong to do it in this way, yes, but I’m sure that I can explain to him...” Garam shook his head. “It’s better for us not to be here when he comes home, trust me.” Silwen opened her mouth to argue but she heard the door opening and spared her words. “Too late. He’s coming.” Garam drew his sword.

“Silwen? Where...” He saw them through the open door to the living room. Silwen felt that he only needed a moment to understand what had happened. What bond was between them. She tensed when Mo drew his weapon. He didn’t sound angry but his movements spoke another language. “Do you really want to fight me, Garam? You know, you don’t have a chance against me.” “I won’t allow you to harm Silwen”, Garam growled. “I love her, even if that means my death. You only get her over my dead body.”

Mo lowered his sword. “That’s all I wanted to know.” His body relaxed. “I’m glad that Silwen didn’t fall in love with a coward. Sheath your sword, Garam. I won’t hurt her or you. Elvenlove is something unpredictable, I always knew that it might come to this. Silwen, why don’t you dress and we talk about what to do now?” Silwen’s heart swelled with love for this wonderful Maia, it wasn’t the One Love she shared with Garam, but that didn’t mean that Mo didn’t mean anything to her. He had given her the greatest gift. He let her go.

 

Mo sat in his chair and looked at the two half-elves who sat on the couch and held hands. “I told you from the beginning how Maiar love. You mean much to me, Silwen, but it is a different kind of love. I believe I don’t have to explain it now.” “No, I understand now, Mo.” She reached out and took his hand. “You mean very much to me, too. I’m sorry how you had to learn of it. I... didn’t want to present you with a fait accompli.”

Mo grimaced. “Well, I would have appreciated it if you had been so considerate to not do it in my bed, but it doesn’t change my answer. I hope you know that I’m your smallest problem.” Garam looked at him warily. He didn’t trust the peace. “I didn’t know.” “You mean father, don’t you?” Silwen looked conscious. “Among others. Sinthoras won’t be happy to see that you married an orc.” “He isn’t an orc!”, she hissed at him.

Mo lifted his eyebrows. “No? If he isn’t an orc, he is an elf. If he is an elf, he can’t be a soldier, has to be a slave. Think before you say such things, Silwen.” Garam’s face had turned ashen. “No, I won’t release you from my service, Garam”, Mo reassured him. “I wouldn’t want to make slaves of you, I recruited you _because_ you are a half-elf. I only want to show you how fine the line is. Sinthoras wanted for Silwen and me to be together because he knew that a lover would be a better protection than a father who isn’t the natural father.”

Garam looked confused at Silwen. “What does that mean? Isn’t Sinthoras your father?” Silwen shook her head. “He more or less adopted me. I don’t know, who my natural father is.” She looked hard at Mo. “I can take care of myself.” Mo laughed. “I know, that you can. The first Maia who tries to force himself on you is going to experience an unpleasant surprise. You are strong, flamelet. I’m more concerned about this one.” He pointed at Garam.

“He isn’t a coward as we have seen, he is going to protect you, and I’m the only Maia who will tolerate to be threatened by him, whether he is orc or elf – and that only under today’s circumstances.” Mo rubbed his chin. He thought about possible ways to solve the problem. “Strictly speaking Garam isn’t even allowed to have a wife. Can you cook, Silwen?” “Yes, why?” Silwen was obviously surprised of the sudden change of subject.

“I’m just trying to find a way out of this mess. He is a soldier and orcs aren’t allowed to marry. You are half-Maia but you don’t have a rank. Me and Sinthoras are the only ones who secure your freedom. Maybe we can hide your marriage for a bit but not for long, so I’m out and I’m not sure how Sinthoras will react. And as I said, maybe his protection isn’t enough, so we have to construct something for you. You know Mora, I think?”

“Yes, I know her since I was a child, she is nice.” Silwen had turned pale, she hadn’t thought about the larger implications of her choice. “She is Angband’s chef and I think she likes you. I know that she needs every help she can get, because she doesn’t want to see orcs where the meals for Melkor and us Maiar are cooked, not even as overseers. It will strengthen your position if you have an employment. To have an orc as partner is still a bit... controversial, but it should work this way. But first you have to deal with your father.”

“You might be right.” Silwen looked pleadingly at him. “Can’t you break the news gently to him?” Mo huffed. “I don’t think you can break it gently to a father that his daughter loves an orc even if he is only half-orc. But I can at least reconcile him with the idea that we aren’t together anymore.”

 

 

“Silwen, are you sure?” Sinthoras stared at his daughter horrified. Mo felt with him. “Think of what he is.” “I know, what he is, atya.” Silwen’s answer was determined. “He is as much elf as I am. I know that I only can disappoint you with my choice but I love Garam. I ask you for your understanding.” Sinthoras sighed and threw Mo a helpless look.

‘I can’t help you, brother.’ Mo’s hand lay on Silwen’s shoulder. ‘I know how this must be for you, you always wanted a good life for her. I’ll protect her as well as I can, I already arranged something, but it isn’t your protection she asks for. You are her father, don’t show your disapproval too obviously. She loves you so much.’ Sinthoras lowered his gaze before he looked sternly at Garam.

“What is your real name, Garam?” Mo tensed, his adjutant made a secret of his mother-name, hopefully he knew that this wasn’t the right moment to deny his father-in-law an answer. “I... my mother called me Lantelen”, Garam murmured, his cheeks turned dark. Mo’s lips quivered, small wonder he rather let himself be called Garam. His comrades would mercilessly make fun of him, if they knew.

“But I am Garam.” “If I hear that you make her unhappy, nothing will save you from me”, Sinthoras growled with deep voice, reflexes danced in his red hair. “I have an eye on you.” “Atya!” “I let you have your own way, Silwen, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

 

Mo walked back to Sinthoras after he had brought Silwen and Garam home. Silwen would stay with him for now and Garam had his own small chamber. She had a meeting with Mora tomorrow, it would turn out then if his plan would work. Sinthoras still sat in his chair as if he hadn’t moved. “She fears to lose you, Sinthoras”, Mo said and sat down. “She loves you as if you were her real father. Don’t be too harsh.”

“She _is_ my daughter, Mo.” Sinthoras shook his head. “An orc!” “Half-orc.” Mo smiled crookedly. “And you think that makes it any better?” Sinthoras’ gaze burned. “No, of course not. I told them how precarious the situation is.” Mo shrugged. “It’s love and your daughter is stubborn.” “That’s the damn noldor-blood”, Sinthoras growled. Mo laughed. “Because fire is known for its compliance”, he taunted.

Sinthoras’ lips twitched. “How is he, her husband? Where does he come from?” “He is the son of one of my soldiers, but he was raised by his mother. He is courageous, he is kind. A good soldier, I value him highly. But the most important thing is that he makes Silwen happy. I would never have been able to love her like this. That’s elven-love, brother, how should we understand it?”

Sinthoras rubbed his face and sighed. “You are right. I just can’t believe that anyone deserves her.” “Spoken like a father.” Mo took the liberty to fill two glasses with wine. Sinthoras turned the cup between his hands. “Elven-love... Have you ever noticed how Mablung looks at Melkor?” “You mean this glances when he thinks himself unobserved?” Mo nodded. “I guess it is a blessing that Melkor is blind to it or he would have gotten rid of him a long time ago.”

“You think it is love?” “I don’t believe it is slave-sickness. I believe he feels deeply for him. And you said yourself that Melkor isn’t indifferent.” Sinthoras shook his head. “A Vala and an elf...” “Thingol and Melian seem to manage quite well.” Mo smiled sadly. “It isn’t impossible.”

“Impossible for this Vala and this elf. And if he had to rip his heart out, Melkor will never acknowledge that he loves a slave. I told you before: It is better if he doesn’t think about it.” Sinthoras drank deeply. “Aren’t they strange beings? How can you fall in love with someone who takes your freedom away?”

Mo shrugged. “Elven-love... and who knows, maybe it is meant to be?” Sinthoras lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t let Melkor hear that you believe in fate. And what would father get out of it?” Mo shrugged. “Who knows? But I don’t believe it was coincidence that those two met. I know it is mad but I hope they find each other.” Sinthoras laughed. “Dream on, Mo.”

“Isn’t that why we are here, brother? Because we are dreamers? I dreamed of appreciation.” “And you got it.” “Yes.” Mo felt reckless, ready to take risks. Ready to do something he had wished for very long. He sat on Sinthoras’ armrest and dragged his finger down his chest. “Should I stay for the night?”, he murmured. Sinthoras looked up. “I won’t let you beat me.”

Mo shook his head. “That wasn’t what I thought of.” Sinthoras’ fingers threaded in his hair and their lips met. Heat radiated from him, but it didn’t burn Mo. Mo sighed blissfully when Sinthoras’ warm hand wandered down his back. “Galathil is going to be scared stiff if I take you with me to my bedroom”, Sinthoras murmured. “On the other hand he will maybe stop seeing you as a threat, if I take you.”

Mo laughed. “Is that a 'yes'?” “Yes.” Sinthoras grinned at him. “I’m going to enjoy it that I can’t burn you with my fire. I always have to hold back.” Mo cradled his face in his hands. “I want you exactly as you are”, he said and kissed his blazing lips. Sinthoras‘ hand found its way under his shirt and stopped. Mo knew what he felt there. „Don’t think about it, brother. It isn’t important. Act as if they weren’t there.”

 

“Why are they still there?”, Sinthoras asked later. Mo sighed, he didn’t have to ask what he meant. They hadn’t found their way to the bedroom, Mo felt the flames of the fireplace on his back and Sinthoras’ flames under his hand. “Because I don’t want to forget how I felt when I was at Sauron’s mercy. You know what I think of slavery and that’s the cause. I want to never be able to persuade myself that it is right.”

Sinthoras pushed a strand of hair from his face. “Even if I agreed with you, I couldn’t admit it”, he said softly. “I wouldn’t have the courage because it would mean that I’d lose Galathil.” “I know, Sinthoras.” Mo kissed his fingers. “I don’t condemn you for it. I denied it too after all. Do you love him?” Sinthoras was silent for a long time and played with Mo’s hair. “Yes”, he finally whispered so softly that Mo almost couldn’t hear him.

“I thought so.” He kissed his cheek. “Maybe you should think about what is the best for him. You enabled Silwen to be free, can you withhold this grace from the elf you love? Do you love him enough to make the big sacrifice of letting him go?” Sinthoras stopped him with a kiss. Mo felt how troubled he was.

“Not today”, he whispered into his ear and rolled over him. “Not today”, Mo repeated. He could understand the fight he fought with himself. He knew that his brother didn’t want to think about it. And at the moment he was the best distraction. He gasped when Sinthoras’ heat wrapped around him.

 

 

_456 F.A._

Mablung was afraid for his Master. He had knelt beside him when the message of Fingolfin’s challenge arrived. Melkor had armed himself fuming mad, Sinthoras had tried to dissuade him but to no avail. Melkor had sent Mablung home, he wished, he could be on the battlements to watch, although it broke his heart. He didn’t know what he should wish for.

If Fingolfin won, he would be free – but he would never see his beloved again. Could he really wish for his king to lose? Mablung was glad that he couldn’t develop the thought further, because his Master pushed the door open. Mablung started when he saw him. Blood leaked through his fingers that he pressed to his face, he limped.

“Herdir!” Mablung forgot that he mustn’t speak out of fear for his Master. “What happened?” “Shut up, slave”, Melkor snapped at him. “Out!” Sinthoras who followed on the heels of his Master, stopped him when he left the sleeping room. “I’ll take care of him, don’t fret. It might be better if you would go and keep Galathil company.”

He closed the door and Mablung remained on the outside. He knew that the General meant well but he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t abandon his Master. He was his slave, his place was here. Mablung kneeled beside the door and waited. With pricked ears he tried to make out what happened on the other side of the door but it was too massive, he would have to be patient. He could only feel Melkor’s pain.

 

Sinthoras looked down on Melkor who lay naked on the bed. Three deep scratches ran down his face, slashes decorated his arms and chest, the elvish steel had sliced through the armour, his left foot was nearly cut in half – but he lived. “Can’t you heal yourself?” “No”, Melkor snarled at him. “I don’t want to talk about it and you won’t tell anyone. Just patch me up.”

Sinthoras stayed silent and threaded a needle. He wasn’t sure if he could save the foot but he didn’t say it out loud, Melkor’s mood was dreadful. “You are lucky that you didn’t lose an eye, but there will be scars.” Melkor growled when he started to sew. “That oversized poultry is going to get what it deserves. This is the second time that it thwarts my plans.”

Sinthoras knew that he meant the incident with Maedhros. “Find the eyrie and you’ll find Gondolin”, he murmured. He was sure that the eagles had something to do with Turgon. “You think so?” Melkor breaths were strained, he was in pain but Sinthoras refrained from offering him pain killers, he knew what answer he would get. “Where is my slave?”

“Outside, herdir, you sent him away.” Sinthoras could feel that he was still there. He wished he had taken his suggestion. Didn’t he know what Melkor’s mood was? He would try again when he left. It would be better for Mablung if Melkor didn’t catch sight of him again today. “Good.” Melkor gritted his teeth, he was very pale. “I don’t want him to see me like this.” “And he won’t.” Sinthoras wrapped a bandage around his arm.

 

Sinthoras was relieved when he was able to go. Melkor had won the fight and killed Fingolfin but it wasn’t a glamorous victory – Melkor knew that. It didn’t lighten his mood that he couldn’t heal his body. Sinthoras was worried for him. His Master had told him of his difficulties but he hadn’t known how bad it was. How could this have happened? He was Melkor. The Mightiest!

He nearly fell over Mablung, deeply in thoughts, who still knelt beside the door. Sinthoras sighed, another problem. “Come, Mablung. He isn’t good company today.” Mablung shook his head. “I can’t abandon my Master now. I’m going to wait here until he needs me.” “Why? It must be clear to you that his mood is horrible.”

Sinthoras knew the answer, he could read it in his music. Melkor didn’t believe that anyone could love him, so he didn’t see it. “I’m his slave, my place is at his side. If I don’t stay with him, who will?” Sinthoras kissed his forehead. “He doesn’t deserve you. Take care, nethben.” His only relief was that Melkor couldn’t move well. His capability to hurt Mablung was limited.

 

Melkor sat stiffly in his bed, every movement hurt. Damned Noldo! He had known that he couldn’t ignore a challenge that was voiced like this. Fingolfin had almost defeated him, he wasn’t a warrior, never had been. Melkor closed his eyes, the stitches in his face strained and felt hot. His foot was flaming pain. He tried again to heal himself but he achieved almost nothing. He was stuck in this body.

At least he could feel his slave who waited on the other side of the door. To know he was close felt good. “Come to me, slave.” The moment he said it, he regretted it. He didn’t want to feel his revulsion when he saw his disfigured face. “Don’t be startled. It isn’t pretty.” The slave knelt beside his bed, his eyes darted over his face. “You are still the most beautiful person I know, herdir.” “You are a bad liar, slave, and that wasn’t a question.”

He wasn’t able to do more than hint at a slap in the face. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.” He craved to believe him. It wasn’t true that he was a bad liar. He never felt his hate, his revulsion, all the bad feelings the slave _had_ to feel. It was a puzzle to him how he hid it but it felt good. Melkor could act as if... “Lay down beside me, nethben.” He wanted to hold him in his arms, to feel his warm body. It seemed to him that the pain lessened a bit.

“I was frightened for you, herdir. I’m glad that you are save”, Mablung whispered, his breath warm on Melkor’s skin. He didn’t punish him this time. He couldn’t. Melkor moved his hand to his slave’s nape and played with the short, soft hair. He stifled a moan, he wouldn’t sleep much tonight. His thoughts wandered. He had heard Mablung’s conversation with Sinthoras. 'My place is at his side. If I don’t stay with him, who will?' Of course it only was the answer of a slave, he didn’t mean it.

But he was still here, although he could have left with Sinthoras. 'I was frightened for you.' Was it really possible that the slave cared about him? Why should he have said it? And he still didn’t feel his hate although he had killed his king, the slave had to know that. It couldn’t be, but the idea that Mablung liked him, let his heart beat faster. He longed for... No! What was he thinking?

It had to be because of his injuries, he felt so hot. He couldn’t think clearly! Melkor shut his eyes tightly. He didn’t want, he _mustn’t_ , think like that, it would only make everything worse. The slave tensed, his breathing became faster. Melkor realised that he had gripped his neck and eased his grip. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to hurt you”, he murmured and caressed Mablung’s temple with his lips. ‘I wish...’


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetry ahead, beware! (Don't worry, it's not long ;-).)

„Read to me.” His Master laid a book in his lap, they sat on the bed together. He still couldn’t walk very far and Sinthoras insisted that he took it easy. He became more irritable the longer he was confined to the bed, but Mablung didn’t care. He had his Master almost to himself at the moment. Sinthoras came every day for a few hours to discuss various things with Melkor and Mablung was sent out of the room then but they were alone the rest of the time.

He knew that Melkor was bored, that he wanted him to read to him was prove of that. Mablung opened the book and found poems, written in a delicate, even hand. Who would have thought that his Master liked poetry? Mablung smiled and put the information to the things he knew about his Master. He wet his lips and started to read with soft voice, he hoped he could please his Master.

Poems were almost like music and he only was an amateur. He had cared more for rocks and birds than for the fine arts in his childhood. But Melkor didn’t complain and he became bolder, his voice more steady. “Why do you skip this?” Mablung winced when Melkor spoke. “It’s... Valarin”, he stammered. “I didn’t want to insult your ear with my wrong pronunciation, herdir.”

His Master took the book from his hands and leafed back. He indicated to him to lay his head on his shoulder. “Listen.” And then he _sang_. His voice was deep and resounded in Mablungs heart, his singing in accord with the piano music he was. A shiver of delight ran down Mablung’s spine. It was beautiful, so beautiful, he felt so small and unimportant next to this mighty being.

It was right that a weak elf like him could only be a slave to a Vala. When the song was finished he kept silent. He didn’t dare to move. He was awed like never before in his life. _He who arises in might_ , one of the Powers, maybe the most powerful of all – and he was allowed to be with him. How could he have forgotten who lay beside him? Of all imaginable demonstrations of power it had been a song that had reminded him that he shared the bed of a Vala, _the_ Vala.

 

Melkor leaned his head against the wall and sighed. He shouldn’t have sung it to him, it had reminded him of Manwe. Small wonder, he had written it for him! In those days when he still believed that Manwe could accept him as he was. He was such a fool. Even is brother had tried to bend him as he wanted him to be. He realised that his slave hadn’t moved that he barely dared to breathe.

“What’s wrong, netben?” Mablung jerked. “I’m not worthy to serve you, herdir”, he whispered with quivering voice. Melkor couldn’t stifle a laugh. “And you think so because I _sang_? Of all things!” He grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. The slave gasped when their eyes met. “That’s why you should fear me and because your life is in my hands. Not because I sing beautifully!”

He let go of him and Mablung instantly lowered his gaze. “You didn’t understand me, herdir. I know all this, but I don’t fear you. Your song reminded me that you are so much more than a king whom I belong to.” Mablung tensed, surely he waited for a punishment. He should punish him. To speak without leave and tell him such things! He should teach him the fear of him.

But he wasn’t angry. That he said this made him more happy than he cared to admit. “What is the song about, herdir?” Melkor had feared the question, he didn’t want to talk about it. He really should beat the curious questions out of his slave. Instead he answered: “It is the song for the beloved of writer. I’ll try to translate it for you but it is not easy. Valarin is... different than other languages:

 

_Alone_

_but not lonely_

_Cast out_

_but accepted_

_Unloved_

_but one loves me_

_As long as you are with me_

_I can be happy_

_Let us climb mountains_

_together_

_Let as walk over green meadows_

_the wind in our hair_

_together_

_Let us wade through rivers_

_the water cool on our sore feet_

_together_

_Let us run together_

_Run until the bonds that separate us_

_tear_

_until we can be together_

_free_

_I’m frightened, my soul_

_you have a decision to make_

_Whom will you choose?_

_Me – or them?_

_Don’t abandon me...”_

Melkor’s voice almost broke at his last words. He wiped the ball of his hand over his eyes, his slave shouldn’t see him cry. He hissed when he touched one of the stitches. They were healing but still hurt. “What happened to them?”, Mablung asked cautiously. Apparently he wondered how long he would let him talk. “The one, who the song was for, chose his duty and the writer of the song stayed behind, alone.”

“How awful. I couldn’t do that, leave the one I love.” Mablung spoke with all conviction, he could never leave Melkor, for nothing in the world. ‘You wouldn’t think it so awful if you knew that I’m the abandoned. You would think it righteous.’ Melkor’s heart hurt. “Do you want to learn it?” Mablung looked up and he hoped that he wouldn’t see how red his eyes were.

“Valarin”, he explained. “Do you want to learn it?” Mablung’s face brightened. “You would really teach me, herdir? It’s an honour.” “I’m not a very patient teacher, I fear. Maybe it would be better if someone else would teach you.” Doubt rose in Melkor. Would he be even able to learn it? He only knew of one elf who had mastered the language of the Ainur. “No, herdir, please! I want to be taught by you. I’ll be a good student, I promise.”

Melkor looked into his slave’s excited face and the pain in his heart lessened. “Very well.” He smiled. How good it felt to see him like this. “I’ll teach you, but don’t complain. I warned you. Can you read notes?” “Not very well, herdir.” Mablung blushed. “I wasn’t very interested in music in my childhood.”

“That’s the first think you must learn. Valarin gives utterance to what is around us, what we are – Music. It isn’t a language that is easily written because it is so variable. Basically every speaker has his own... dialect on the language, but that would go too far at the moment. Notes are the best way to write Valarin.”

 

Melkor raked his fingers through his hair and stared angry at the sheet in front of him. What had he thought when he had offered the elf to teach? How should he teach him his language? Someone who had no clue how the Ainur sensed the world! Notes and words that compounded of tone syllables were just a crutch, but it was clear to him that his slave couldn’t learn it otherwise.

How should he convey to him that Valarin was so much more than giving things a name? How to explain that it was the tune that mattered, that you didn’t need words. He was tempted to tell him that he changed his mind but he thought of the disappointment his slave would feel and turned again to the sheet. He wanted him to learn, it would be lovely to speak with him in his own language.

Maybe he should take him along when he met his generals the next time. He had never done that before and it would lead to questions, but this way he could show his slave what Valarin really was. Could it be that no elf had realised this until now? Melkor scratched his face, the scars itched, Sinthoras had removed the stitches a few days back.

He still limped but he hadn’t let himself be stopped today from going to his study. He had much to do and still he sat here and tried to develop something like a word list that the slave would be able to make use of. Melkor laughed. It was good that Artano wasn’t here, he would have called him mad.

 

Mablung lay on his bed and tried to understand what his Master had written down for him. He had never heard anyone speak Valarin before Melkor had sung for him yesterday. He wasn’t a musician, it wasn’t difficult for him to memorise the notes but he couldn’t imagine the tune resulting from it. He wished now he had paid more attention to the violin lessons his parents had forced on him.

Normally he learned new languages easily. He had learned Sindarin in a few weeks and the Quenya, the orcs spoke, even faster. Valarin was different. The words were composed of a few repetitive syllables, it almost looked random. Mablung supposed that the notes, the tune was the key part. He didn’t want to disappoint his Master completely so he at least tried to memorise the tone syllables, but he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to sing them in the right way.

He jerked when Melkor coughed behind him. He hadn’t heard him come in! Why hadn’t he heard him? That had never happened to him before. Mablung turned around and knelt before his Master. His Master didn’t sound angry but sometimes he was wrong about his mood. “I don’t have time for a punishment now, that has to wait for later. Come, slave, you’ll accompany me today. I want you to listen.”

Mablung followed his Master to the card room. He was surprised, Melkor never took him along when he met with his generals. As if he could betray him to anyone. He couldn’t even see the cards from where he knelt. “What is he doing here?”, Carnlóme, one of the generals, asked astonished. “I want him to be present today.” Melkor put his hand on Mablung’s head. “Ignore him.” He sounded dangerous and Mablung felt secure, his Master protected him.

He knelt on the floor and waited for them to start. Sometimes one of them said a few words, but... Mablung frowned. It was hard for him to concentrate on the words with all the Maiar in the room, whose music resounded... His head shot up when he realised that they already talked. He was an idiot! Oh, how wonderful! He hurried to lower his gaze when Melkor slapped him on the back of the head.

He had been right, the syllables weren’t important, they were random, a medium to give voice to the music. They could have used their instruments just as well, but they didn’t really need them, they spoke with their souls. As the evening continued and the discussion became more heated they used their voices more. Mablung now and then recognized single words but he was far from being able to follow the conversation. He was much too astonished – and he was enraptured.

He had used his gift mostly to detect his Master’s mood until now, he would have never come up with the idea that it was a language. Later he stumbled after his Master tiredly. It was late and his head hurt from listening. There was a punishment waiting for him, his Master surely hadn’t forgotten. Melkor closed the door and started to undress. Mablung went to his knees again.

“Well? What do you make of it?” Melkor didn’t sound as if he had high hopes that he had understood. Mablung felt elated. Maybe he wouldn’t disappoint his Master as he had thought, maybe he even surprised him. Could he tell him the truth? What would his Master do when he heard what he could do?

“It is so beautiful, herdir! So perfect. I understand now that the tone syllables are only a means to an end when you only have your voice. It is the tune that matters. It... it is _the_ Music, isn’t it?” Mablung spoke so fast his voice cracked, his heart raced in his chest. He was so filled with music, so full of happiness. It was like a secret that he had uncovered. Melkor looked surprised. “That’s right.” He smiled at him. “I didn’t expect you to realise this. How did you get on to it?”

At other times Mablung would have been more reluctant to tell him but now he was like intoxicated. “You and your Maiar... I can... hear you? Feel you? There isn’t a word in Quenya, it is like feeling music, just somewhere in my head. I was confused at first, because you didn’t speak until I realised that you did... that was when I understood what you couldn’t explain to me.”

A silence followed that only was broken by Melkor’s soft steps. Mablung could feel that he mulled his words over. “Astonishing. I’m almost inclined to forgive you for your inattention earlier.” Melkor caressed his shoulders. “Almost.” Mablung shivered with pleasure when he heard Melkor taking off his belt. It was a punishment, it shouldn’t feel so good, but he knew it wouldn’t be a hard punishment today. “Ten strikes.”

 

Melkor caressed the welts on his slave’s shoulders. He had been tempted to let the matter rest but he had let him get away with too much in the last days when he had to stay in bed. A small reminder where his place was, would do no harm. “Were you born with it?”, he continued their conversation. He had never heard of an elf who could hear the Music, even in part. “No, herdir, it started in Angband.”

He now understood why he sometimes had the feeling that the slave could read his mind. He had learned to read his music. If he taught him Valarin now, he would have to be careful what he let show in his music, but it meant that it wasn’t as hopeless to teach him his language as he had thought. The probability was high that the elf would understand to some extent how an Ainu perceived the world. It would be interesting how an elf could develop such a talent.

“What you feel is the tune of the person, I don’t know if it is the soul. In Valarin it would sound like this:” Melkor sang a few notes and returned to Quenya. “ _Being-Myself?_ Quenya isn’t made for this kind of conversation. Elves don’t have the necessary comprehension for it, that’s why you don’t have words to express it. For us Ainur the whole world feels like this, everything around us. I can feel you, the fire, the stones around us...” Melkor stretched his senses, he was strong today and so he could feel all of Angband.

“Maybe I will think of something to show you, now that I know that you will understand it.” Melkor smiled gently at his slave. He didn’t know what he felt at the thought of his slave noticing each of his emotions, but he was proud that his slave was something special. “Come to bed now, nethben, it is late, you have to be tired.” He wanted to hold him in his arms, partly because he already had an idea how to show him, how the world felt for him. The slave nodded and relaxed. Melkor allowed him to snuggle up against him and closed his eyes.

 

He walked hand in hand with his Master through a bright wood, slightly uphill. Birds sang somewhere in the boughs. It seemed strangely familiar to him. He caressed his Master’s knuckles with a thumb. “This is a dream, isn’t it?” He didn’t expect an answer, he knew that he dreamed. Melkor assuredly wouldn’t hold hands with his slave.

A pleasant shiver ran down his spine when Melkor laughed softly. “It is.” “Where are we?” Mablung looked around. “You tell me. It is a dream, your dream, I’m only a guest. I only can tell you, why I intrude in your dream. I want to show you, why Valarin is spoken as it is.” Mablung stared at him with open mouth. This _was_ a dream. The real Melkor would have immediately reminded him that he wasn’t to speak without order.

“How do you want to do that, herdir?”, he asked cautiously, he wasn’t sure if he conjured this up himself or if his Master truly was here, but if it was the later he wouldn’t take risks. The Dream-Melkor pointed to a moss cushion under a tree. “Let’s sit down.” Mablung nodded. When they sat comfortably, Melkor had quite naturally laid his arm around Mablung, he said: “Listen.”

Mablung was thrown into a chaos of music. It was as if he had gotten a new sense or as if his gift to hear the Ainur had intensified extremely. Mablung closed his eyes to better handle the impressions but still it felt to him as if he could see. He _saw_ with the Music. Slowly a single tune crystallized, Melkor seemed to direct him and suddenly Mablung knew what it was as if he had always known.

He sang with quivering voice a few syllables and tried to give it the sound of _grass_. A new tune came to the foreground. _Wind-through-the-leaves_ became _water-running-over-rocks_ became _doe_. Mablung opened his eyes and saw the animal run away between the trees. The world was bathed in golden light but when he looked to the sky he could see the stars. He knew now where they were, or rather when.

“Very good”, Melkor said. “You exceed my highest hopes.” Mablung beamed at him. The praise made him so happy. “We’ll continue tomorrow, now that I know that you can truly learn it, I’ll be glad to teach you.” “Will you visit me in my dreams again?” It felt so good to sit here with him. Not Master and slave, just two lovers.

Melkor became serious. “No, your dreams are yours and I respect that. I won’t follow you to them as well. This was an exception.” Mablung looked up. This was a dream, wasn’t it? He could do what he wanted. Cautiously he reached out and caressed Melkor’s cheek – and reached up to kiss him.

 

Mablung woke with a start, he sighed sadly. It hadn’t been granted to him to enjoy the kiss. He listened to Melkor’s breath and his music but he couldn’t discern if he was awake. If he had really been there, he had gone too far at the end – much too far. His Master would make him suffer for it. But he was glad that it had happened. Mablung closed his eyes  and hoped to return to the dream as he dozed off.

 

Melkor stared into the darkness, his heart raced in his chest. This mad elf had kissed him! He touched his lips with two fingers, he wanted to hold on to the gentle pressure on his mouth. Why had he done this? Why had he kissed him? Melkor closed his eyes, took a trembling breath and embraced Mablung tighter.

He shouldn’t give too much weight to it. It had been only a dream, dreams tended to get out of control. It wasn’t as if the slave meant something to him! But why then did it hurt so much to know, that he would never kiss him of his own free will? That he wouldn’t lie in his arms if he'd had another choice? Melkor longed to return to the dream, he yearned to make the most of the kiss. When it had happened, he had been so startled that he lost control. Now it was too late.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

_466 F.A._

Mablung knelt trembling before his Master. All of Angband tried to avoid him because they knew in what mood he was after the theft of the Silmaril, but his place was at his Master’s side. Where else should he go? “Offer yourself.” Melkor’s voice was cold as ice, he hadn’t talked to him like that in ages.

Mablung felt his Master’s burning wrath and hurried to obey, he didn’t want to anger him further. His Master took his belt off and stroke out. Mablung moaned, his Master had treated him like this the whole week. His body was covered in welts and bruises. It hadn’t been so bad since... since Before. He was suddenly frightened of what was to come. His Master was often angry, but never for so long. Hot tears ran down his cheeks.

He hadn’t forgotten how his Master could be, his wrath came too suddenly for that, but he had blocked out how it was to be beaten to exhaustion every day. A kind word, just one word, would have made it more bearable but his Master didn’t even call him _nethben_ anymore. After a while Melkor paused and kneaded Mablung’s burning backside. Mablung sobbed. His Master grabbed his hair and pulled him to his feet.

“I have been much too lenient with you, Noldo. I’m going to remind you, what it means to be my slave”, he hissed into his ear. Mablung stumbled when he pushed him hard. He almost struggled when Melkor chained him to the pillory. No! He knew now that it would get really bad today. The fear was a cold weight in his stomach. He had done nothing to deserve this. But he mustn’t think like that. He was a slave, his Master didn’t need a cause, a justification, he could treat him as he wanted. Mablung screamed with pain when the whip hit his tortured skin. Soon blood was running down his feet.

 

Melkor only stopped when the slave became unconscious. He was drenched in sweat, his muscles quivered with exertion. His gaze fell on the blood that stuck to the lashes of the whip, the blood of his slave. He swallowed hard. A promise, he had made him a promise that it wouldn’t be like this again. Melkor shut his eyes, his fingers closed so hard around the handle of the whip that the leather crunched.

He still was so angry, an anger that wanted to be let out. But not... not on him. He had suffered enough. In this moment of clarity, Melkor realised that Mablung had to get out of his sight. He threw the whip aside and fetched the washbowl that he emptied over the slave’s head. Mablungs fear hit Melkor like a punch to the stomach when he came awake. Melkor unchained him. “Go”, he snarled at him. “Herdir?” Mablung lifted his head weakly from the floor. “Go, I don’t want to see you anymore.” His wrath burned hot and wanted blood – but not his blood. He would go to the dungeons and take it out on a prisoner.

 

Mablung came to his feet tediously and limped from the room. Where should he go? His eyes burned with tears. “I don’t want to see you anymore.” Had his Master just cast him out? He still trembled with fear but he would have borne anything for his Master. No pain could be so bad as the emptiness in his heart that overcame him when he thought of never being with his Master again. Why couldn’t it just stay as it had been? He had been content to serve his Master, the one he loved.

He almost hated the people who had stolen the Silmaril. Did they know what they had caused? It wasn’t just him. Melkor had passed a lot of death sentences in the last few days. Of the slaves that had been in the room when Luthien had danced for Melkor, only he still lived – and that probably only because he had woken after Melkor. Mablung braced himself on the dark wooden door. His legs quivered, he knew that he would lose consciousness again soon. He hoped, Sinthoras would help him. He knocked with the last of his strength and sat down on the floor, he felt dizzy. He wasn’t aware of it anymore when Sinthoras opened the door.

 

Mablung woke slowly. He moaned softly, his back was on fire, pain throbbed behind his temples. He was cold although he was drenched in sweat. He only noticed that he wasn’t alone when someone pushed his damp hair from his neck. He lifted his gaze and saw Sinthoras’ worried face over him. “You are awake, that’s good. What happened?” Sinthoras made him drink something that smelled musty and tasted acrid.

“He was so angry”, Mablung murmured with hoarse voice. “Because of the Silmaril. I thought he’d kill me. Then he stopped suddenly and told me to get lost. I didn’t know where to go...” “So you came to me.” Sinthoras smiled. “I’m honoured by your trust.” “How long was I...” “A few hours, it’s still night. You should try to sleep. You are running a fever.” Sinthoras’ voice was gentle. “What I gave you to drink will ease your pain but you need rest.”

“I don’t want to be a burden, herdir.” “You aren’t, nethben. I should have checked on you sooner. I know after all, in what mood Melkor is currently. Sleep now, we'll talk tomorrow.” Mablung nodded slowly. “He said he doesn’t want to see me anymore. Do you think he is tired of me?” Sinthoras kissed his forehead. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just that everything’s too much at the moment.” Sinthoras hummed softly and Mablung was carried to sleep by the tune.

 

Sinthoras found Mablung already awake, when he rose in the morning. “How are you feeling?” He laid his hand on his brow to feel, if he still was feverish. “I’m well, herdir.” Sinthoras smiled wryly. He was sure that Mablung would still say this when he was about to die. It had been beaten into him that a injured slave was useless – and a useless slave was a dead slave. But his brow was warm, not hot. Mablung healed fast.

Sinthoras folded back the blanket and inspected his back. While he applied fresh salve he said: “I’m going to Melkor later, to tell him that you are here. He mustn’t think that I hide you from him.” “I wouldn’t want you to hide me, herdir. He shouldn’t think that I ran away. I want to go home, herdir.” Home... Sinthoras stopped short. Home to Melkor? Did he really see it this way? “Are you sure that he still wants me?”

“I am sure, yes.” Sinthoras gave him an encouraging smile. “I’ll talk to him, but are you sure that you are well enough to serve him?” “I’m his slave, herdir, I have to endure it.” Mablung’s throath moved when he swallowed. “Do you think... he’ll cool down?” Sinthoras caressed his hair. “His wrath will die away but until then he is dangerous for you. To be honest, I’d sleep better if I could persuade him to leave you here. Just a few weeks, until he calms down.” “No, herdir, please. I want to be with him.”

 _Because you love him?_ Sinthoras wasn’t sure if he really did, but that the elf felt something for Melkor that wasn’t hate was obvious. “As you wish.” He sighed. “I’ll go to see him now.” To his surprise he didn’t find Melkor in his bed or study. Sinthoras reached out with his mind and finally found him in the dungeons. He sighed and went down to the roots of the mountain. Apparently his Master had found another outlet for his wrath after he had sent Mablung away. Was that good or bad?

Sinthoras stopped in the door to the torture chamber and waited till Melkor noticed him. He tried not to look too closely, he wasn’t squeamish but this would give him bad dreams. “What do you want, Sinthoras?” Melkor turned around, his eyes burned. When he wiped the sweat from his face he left a streak of blood. He looked as if he hadn’t slept the whole night. “It’s because of your slave... if he is still your slave.” Sinthoras didn’t try to hide his disapproval, although he knew he was playing with fire. Melkor was in a mood that he would raise his hand even against him.

“Of course he his”, Melkor snapped. “What are you talking about?” “You told him to get lost. He came to me because he didn’t know where else to go. I tended to his wounds.” Not that he believed that he would be thanked for it. “He thinks you don’t want him anymore.” “He would like that, wouldn't he?” Melkor had a cruel smile on his lips. Sinthoras clenched his fists. When he was like this, he was tempted to beat sense into him.

“On the contrary”, he answered, his voice shook. “He wants to go home, his words, and he didn’t mean Aman. Almost the first thing he asked, after he regained consciousness was, if I think that you grew tired of him and he nearly cried.” Melkor blinked and Sinthoras was surprised to see emotion return to his eyes. “He said that?” “Yes. He also said that he wants to be with you.” Melkor looked at his bloody hands and shook his head. “That’s just slave-talk. He says it to please.” “And if it is so?” Sinthoras put a hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t deserve to be tortured. I thought, we had established that.”

“You shouldn’t talk to your king like this, Sinthoras.” Melkor smiled warmly. “But, as usual, you are right. How is he?” “He says, fine. He had a fever in the night but that subsided. I don’t doubt that he will serve you – at all cost, but he needs rest. You know best how you treated him the last weeks. It’s not his fault, Melkor, he doesn’t deserve to have to pay for it.” Melkor sighed. “I know, but when it overcomes me... I don’t have to explain this to you.” No, he didn’t need to. Sinthoras had experienced it firsthand. “I’ll bathe and then I’ll come to you. I want to talk to him.” Sinthoras nodded and drew back.

 

“How are you?” Melkor caressed his slave’s head. He was exhausted, his wrath had evaporated, he had vented it quite enough in the night. “Fine, herdir.” His voice was throaty. Melkor felt a sting that almost felt like shame. He wiped a strand of hair from his face. “I’m sorry for what happened, nethben. Sometimes my temperament gets the better of me.” “You don’t have to apologise, herdir. I’m your slave, I belong to you. I’m here to fulfil your wishes.”

“Maybe”, Melkor sighed, “but... I didn’t do it for pleasure this time, I did it because I was mad with fury and that was wrong. I broke a promise.” “Are you... will you take me home with you?” “Yes, nethben, I will. I didn’t send you away because I don’t want you. I just knew that I would harm you if you stayed. I didn’t want that. I was afraid for you.” He felt the slave’s happiness at his words and his heart beat faster, regardless of his wrath. He lifted Mablung up gently.

“Your injuries will heal ere I beat you again”, he said softly. He would make it up to him. He didn’t owe his slave anything of course, but he didn’t want it be said that he broke his promises. His slave rested his head on his shoulder as he carried him home. He was completely relaxed, nothing in his behaviour showed that he had treated him badly.

Sinthoras was right. Mablung was a good slave, he didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t his fault, that Artano had let himself be bested by a girl and a dog. Melkor pushed his wrath down with difficulty. Not now, there would be time for it later. If only he would finally get hold of Artano. His Maia hadn’t reported back. He hid somewhere in Taur-nu-Fuin. Maybe he would send Sinthoras to search him.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Mablung lay awake. He wasn’t in pain, but sometimes he wanted to listen to his Master’s sleeping. He learned more of him then than in all the waking hours he shared with him. Since is Master taught him Valarin he could read him better than before. He felt something change. His Master’s breathing became laboured and sorrow hit Mablung like a punch. His Master was dreaming.

Mablung was familiar with nightmares, but what Melkor dreamed was different. His Master spoke in his sleep and Mablung had learned over the years more about his dreams than he could want. It was always Manwe. “Don’t leave me.” How often had he heard him say that? He longed to ease his loneliness.

He realised that his Master was crying now. He heard him sob and couldn’t bear it any longer.  Again and again he had told himself that he couldn’t help him. He was just a slave, his Master wouldn’t want that he saw him so weak. But he loved Melkor, he didn’t want him to be sad. Even his wrath was more bearable than his sadness.

Mablung stood up, his naked feet making a soft noise on the stone floor, and laid down beside his Master. If anger chased the sadness away, so be it. His Master’s skin was cold when he embraced him. His Master looked at him with tearstained eyes before he buried his head at his shoulder.

Mablung knew that he would pay for this familiarity. A slave didn’t do something like this, and Melkor knew now that he had seen him weak. He was surprised that he accepted his comfort, but he felt Melkor’s grief turn into something different before he fell asleep in his arms. Mablung’s lips trembled when he kissed his forehead. Maybe he would die tomorrow but he would do it with the knowledge that he had given his Master peace tonight.

 

When Melkor noticed that he had just read the one sentence for the fifth time without understanding it, he closed the folder sighing. He couldn’t concentrate today, last night was constantly on his mind. He didn’t know what to do with his slave. He had glowered at him in the morning and said: “I’ll see about your punishment in the evening.” He knew what his slave expected – what he expected of himself. The problem was: He wasn’t angry. He should be, but he wasn’t.

He had been so relieved in the night to not have to deal with the pain alone. When he was awake he tried to persuade himself that he didn’t care for his brother anymore, but he knew that it was otherwise. He fell into a hole when he woke after this dreams of Manwe. His brother had cast him out, had done their siblings' bidding. He had forced him to kneel before him.

Melkor clenched his fists. Finally the anger came, but he wasn’t angry with Mablung. He wouldn’t beat him because he was angry at someone else, he had done that too often already. Mablung’s presence, simply to hear his music, eased the pain after the dreams, had done it almost since he belonged to him. His slave had never been so bold as yesterday.

Melkor was aware that the elf could feel much with his gift. The finer tunes of his language still evaded him but he could make himself understood. It had made the dream so much more bearable when he had embraced him, and it had been the most disrespectful thing the slave had ever done. What should he do? Mablung expected to be punished, to be punished hard. What would he do if he realised that Melkor didn’t intend to do anything of that kind?

What if he didn’t obey him anymore if he noticed that he could? He mustn’t allow it. The slave mustn’t lose his respect of him. Melkor sighed and stood up. He couldn’t tend to other things that demanded his unshared attention. First he had to deal with his slave. The slave knelt at his place. Melkor didn’t feel fear from him, just resignation. He was at peace with himself, he had known that he would pay for his action – and had done it despite that knowledge. His slave thought that he couldn’t expect mercy.

Melkor closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The wrath still wouldn’t come. “Go to the pillory and wait for me”, he said sharply. He waited until the slave had left the room and changed his robes for comfortable trousers. He knew what the pillory would remind his slave of, he only used it to punish, and left him for a bit with the memory of their first night together - or maybe he just staved off the punishment.

Melkor closed the pillory around his slaves joints. “You know why I punish you, slave?” His hand lay on the slave’s back, he felt him tremble. “Yes, herdir. I was disrespectful.” His voice quivered. “Punish me as you see fit, herdir.” Melkor walked to the closet and chose a whip, but he was absent-minded. He didn’t _want_ to do this, it felt wrong. But he needed to. He mustn’t allow the slave to treat him like that.

It had felt so wrong to beat someone. He deserved it! It was right! Mablung bled already when he finally screamed, he had taught him to bear a punishment in silence. Melkor’s heart clenched. It was almost as if he could feel the pain himself. He stopped an wiped over his eyes when tears fogged his view. Why did he do this? He looked at the bloody welts on his slave’s skin, he had made his point quite clear. “You won’t do it again?”, he asked, his voice throaty. “No, herdir. Never.” The slave slumped. Melkor untied him and carried him to the bed when he realised that Mablung couldn’t walk by himself.

 

Mablung let himself sink into the soft mattress – until he realised that it was too soft for his bed. His Master had been uncommonly calm, as long as Mablung had had the strength to pay attention to it. He hadn’t felt the boundless wrath he had anticipated. And now he was allowed to sleep in his Master’s bed – after a punishment. How should he understand this? He opened his eyes and looked at his Master.

“It’s fine, slave. Rest.” His Master stroked his hair. Mablung closed his eyes obediently. “I’m not angry, nethben.” Mablung relaxed relieved and soon fell asleep. He was too tired to question his Master’s decisions and he didn’t want to think now. His Master showed mercy, that was all that mattered. The 'Why' wasn’t important – and he wouldn’t be told anyway.

 

Melkor looked down on his sleeping slave. He hadn’t woken when he had come home and Melkor had decided to let him sleep. He was in pain, he should rest. Melkor wanted to persuade himself that the slave had deserved the punishment but he still had a bad feeling about it. It was done, but he could at least grant him some rest. Melkor laid down on the thin mattress where normally the slave slept.

It was insane, if his generals could see how he slept on the floor they would be disconcerted. He felt the coldness of the stone floor seeping through the fabric almost at once. Melkor decided that the slave would sleep in his bed from now on. He liked to hold him in his arms and he didn’t want him to be cold, although it was against all conventions.

He only needed to make certain that the slave didn’t regard it as matter of course, but he didn’t believe that Mablung would think so. Mablung never was disrespectful, even yesterday. He hadn’t done it out of disrespect, he had done it to comfort him – at least Melkor hoped so. It had felt so good.

 

The first thing, Mablung noticed when he woke, was the hot, stinging pain in his back and thighs. He whimpered softly. He was cold, shivering he drew the blanket around him and slid backwards to snuggle against his Master – that was the moment he noticed that he didn't lie beside him. Mablung opened his eyes and looked around. He could feel him, where was he? What he saw made him gasp for breath.

His Master lay curled up in the corner, his long hair tousled around his head. A smile came to Mablung lips, he looked so peaceful, so... innocent. Why did he sleep on the floor? Mablung rose slowly and limped to his Master, blanket in tow. Careful not to wake him, he laid down beside him und spread the blanket over both of them. He wanted to be with him, no matter how, no matter where. How much he loved him!

His Master embraced him. “What are you doing here”, he mumbled sleepily. “Isn’t it more comfortable in my bed?” “Not, if you aren’t there. I’ll rather sleep on the floor than be apart from you.” Mablung sighed when his Master’s hand slid over his belly. His Master laughed softly. “And I thought I’d do you something good with letting you be. I never know if you mean what you say or if you just say it to please me.” Mablung didn’t answer, it hadn’t been a question and his Master wouldn’t believe the truth.

 

 

_481 F.A._

Melkor came home from an execution. His decision to sentence the orcs to death head been met with incomprehension, but they had raped and killed a boy. A child! Melkor caressed the slave’s hair. “Come here.” He embraced him tight, he needed that now. “You are growing soft”, Artano had said. Melkor had denied it angrily but it was true that it wouldn’t have troubled him that much in the past.

Mo had reported the crime to him, he had shown him the dead boy. Melkor kissed Mablung’s neck. He now realised how sad his slave sounded, he had been so deeply in thoughts that he hadn’t noticed earlier. Melkor made himself comfortable in front of the fire and drew him on his lap. Mablung’s eyes were red rimmed as if he had cried. “What’s wrong, nethben?”, he asked gently. He didn’t want to hurt him today. After he had seen the boy’s corpse, he couldn’t think of pleasure.

“Nothing, herdir.” Mablung’s voice was hoarse. “No, of course not.” Melkor caressed his neck. “I don’t like it when you keep things from me, slave.” “You wouldn’t understand anyway.” Melkor was surprised that his slave dared to contradict him. He wasn’t like that normally. Whatever it was, it had thrown him off course. “Slave...” An unspoken threat resonated in Melkor’s voice, Mablung wouldn’t dare to defy him. Mablung trembled in his arms and started to cry.

“Why are you crying, nethben? Tell me.” Melkor spoke gently again. “If I hadn’t left home, I would have turned fifty today. It’s five hundred now but still, I came of age today.” Mablung sobbed. “I’m homesick.” Melkor pulled his slave close. He hadn’t been aware of how young Mablung still was. He had told him that he had been nineteen when they left Aman but Melkor had never bothered to count the years. “Oh, hína.” He kissed his forehead.

“I’m sorry, herdir.” Mablung wiped the tears from his cheeks and tried to pull himself together but the tears flowed on. Melkor kissed his cheek. “Hush, nethben. _I’m_ sorry.” He meant it and that amazed him. He was sorry that he had stolen Mablung’s childhood. “Go to bed, hína, I don’t need you today.” After what he had seen, and faced with Mablung’s unhappiness he didn’t want to have sex now.

Melkor rubbed his temples. He was going to establish a law that protected children. Slaves had to grow up faster than it was common for elves, of course, Mablung was the best example. An elf was fully grown in body around his twentieth year, but the boy from today hadn’t been even that, Mo had guessed his age around ten or twelve years. He couldn’t allow something like this.

 

Melkor had lain awake long and thought what he could do for Mablung. A birthday present for a slave? If he left him alone, Mablung only would become nervous. He had been to sad on the evening to be concerned about the fact that Melkor had let him sleep. He felt his insecurity when he entered the room. He knelt on the floor as always. Melkor caressed his back, traced a welt with his finger. It would be so easy... but no, not today.

He ordered him to follow him and sat down to eat. The bell cover that hid his present stood already on the table. When they had finished their meal he told Mablung: “Sit down, Mablung.” The elf’s wary gaze stung him. But what did he expect? Melkor waited until Mablung sat, the elf moved as if he expected the chair to bite him. Melkor lifted the silver cover from the plate and revealed a cake. “Happy Birthday, Mablung.”

Mablung’s eyes widened and filled with tears. “This... for me? Herdir, I... thank you.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Thank you very much.” “I hope you like chocolate.” Mora had looked aghast when he requested a cake but the smile that Mablung gave him was worth it. “Yes, herdir, very much.” Melkor cut the cake and  handed him a slice. Then he reached out and wiped a tear from Mablung’s cheek.

“Are you okay?”, he asked gently. “Yes, herdir. This means very much to me.” Mablung smiled, his lips trembling. Melkor smiled back and ate a bite. He tasted chocolate and cinnamon and cardamom. Mora had outdone herself. He was glad that he had won her over, back then he hadn’t appreciated her cooking, he hadn’t needed to eat then. Now... Melkor closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about this now, it would make him angry and he didn’t want to spoil the evening.

 

Mablung enjoyed the cake. He didn’t know when he had last eaten something sweet. Melkor shared his meals with him but not the dessert. He licked the remains of the chocolate from the spoon and stood up. Melkor was in a fine mood today, he would thank him for his present. It made him happy. Today he knew that he meant something to his Master. Why else should he make him a present?

“Thank you, herdir.” Melkor sat on Melkor’s lap, the kiss they shared tasted of the spices that had been in the cake. His Maser laid his arm around his waist and pulled him close. “I’m glad, that you are happy. You are a good servant.” Melkor’s hand stroked his neck. “And such obedience should be rewarded.” Mablung closed his eyes when his Master rubbed him behind the ears.

He loved it so much when he could be with his Master in this way. His Master didn’t ask anything of him, just that he didn’t struggle. He didn’t need to fear now that he couldn’t please his Master. Mablung bend forward and kissed his Master’s neck. Maybe it would have been wiser not to tempt him and have another quiet night, but he didn’t want that.

For one, he wanted to show him his gratitude but there was also the fact that he wanted to feel his Master inside him, he couldn’t deny it. His Master tucked at his hair and nibbled at his earlobe, his other hand closed around Mablung’s buttock. Mablung moved into the touch, a pleasant shiver running down his spine. He loved him so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hína - child
> 
> A little fluff before disaster strikes in the next chapter(s).


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melkor is furious in this chapter. It's a nasty one, be prepared.

_510 F.A._

Sinthoras slowly regained consciousness, he lay on cold stone. When he tried to stand up, pain exploded in his abdomen, he fell back moaning. It was wet between his legs, his fingertips were red when he felt for it. The memory came back suddenly. Melkor had ordered him to come to his rooms in the middle of the night, so much wrath in his melody as he had heard seldom before. Sinthoras had tried to calm him but Melkor hadn’t heard him out and taken him without a word of explanation – roughly.

Mablung... Mablung! Sinthoras picked himself up pushing the pain away and turned around. The elf still was stretched on the rack and obviously unconscious. At least Sinthoras hoped that he was just unconscious, he might be dead, the way he looked. Both his shoulder joints were dislocated, blood from his broken nose had dried on his mouth and chin, a big bruise bloomed on his right cheek. The elf’s left lower leg looked strangely twisted and a white bone splinter protruded from his left forearm.

Sinthoras limped to Mablung and unchained him gently. Now he saw that his chest moved, weakly, but he breathed. Sinthoras’ hands trembled, he was in shock but he needed to help Mablung. The slave whimpered weakly when he lifted him up. Tears streamed from his bruised eyes. Melkor had to have beaten him in a blind rage. Sinthoras could by no stretch of imagination figure out what had made him so angry.

“Hush, it’s okay. Everything will be fine again”, he murmured soothingly and carried the trembling elf from the room. He couldn’t leave him here and Melkor had disappeared without a trace. Galathil looked horrified, when he saw them. “What happened, herdir? What has he done to Mablung?” “I don’t know what happened. Melkor was very angry. I... couldn’t stop him.” He bit his lower lip hard to not start crying.

He didn’t understand Melkor. It was so obvious that Mablung meant something to him. Why did he do such a thing? But maybe his feelins were the problem. “Can I help?” Sinthoras nodded. “I’m going to need you. Put the bigger kettle on the flames and fill it with water.” The skin around the open fracture had ripped further when he had untied Mablung. He had tied the arm off but before he could put it in a splint and stitch the wound, he needed to clean it.

 

The room moved around him. Sinthoras closed his eyes and shook his head. He had reset Mablung’s shoulders, righted the fractures and washed the blood from his body. He had only discovered when he put him down, that his back was covered in bloody lashes. Now his own body, he had neglected the whole time, took his toll. Cold sweat stood on his brow, pain shot through is body in the rhythm of his heartbeat, he bled again. He needed to sit down, or he would... He was already gone when he hit the floor.

When he came to himself again, he felt a hand that washed the blood from his thigh. He lifted his head weakly and looked directly into Galathil’s face. The elf pulled back his hand and looked away, his body tense. “You collapsed, I didn’t know what to do. You bled, herdir.” “Thank you for taking care of me.” Sinthoras sat up and took Galathil’s hands between his. He lay on Galathil’s bed, his slave must have pulled him here. “How long have I been gone?”

“Not long.” Galathil bit his lip. “Can I do something for you, herdir?”, he asked haltingly. Sinthoras saw that he was frightened of what he might ask of him. “Embrace me, Galathil, just hold me.” Sinthoras felt himself tremble, he was still in shock. Melkor hadn’t only been angry at Mablung, he had felt that. What had he done to displease him so much? Galathil lay down beside him and embraced him reluctantly.

Sinthoras let his head rest on Galathil’s chest and clung to him. He needed his closeness now and wished, as so often, that the elf were here of his own free will. He loved him, but he couldn’t let him go and Galathil would never forgive him. He knew, what he thought of him, he had made it very clear after his attempt at escape. It broke his heart. Mo was right, slavery was wrong, and still, he couldn’t let him go. He was selfish.

 

~*~*~

 

“Where is my Master?” Sinthoras winced when he heard the soft voice. Mablung had opened his eyes as far as was possible, they were almost swollen shut. “Why am I not in his rooms? Why isn’t he here?” He breathed fast, Sinthoras saw the panic in his eyes. “Your Master is very busy, he is the King after all, you know that. He has asked me to take care of you. He’ll come to see you when I tell him that you are awake.” Sinthoras had a lump in his throat, he pitied the elf. He needed to lie to him, he mustn’t learn the truth in his state.

Melkor treated Sinthoras with a coldness he had never shown to him before and he refused to speak to him in private. Sinthoras still was in the dark as to how he had lost his grace – his friendship. Melkor hadn’t asked after Mablung. “He doesn’t want me anymore.” Mablung sobbed. “He doesn’t care for me in the least. I only was his plaything, one that can be broken because it can be replaced easily. And now he has had enough of me and found himself another slave. He doesn’t care if I live or die or what happens to me.”

Sinthoras laid his hand on his hair. “That’s not true, you mean very much to him.” Sinthoras caressed his forehead with his thumb. At least he hadn’t caught a fever. He took a cup and held it to Mablung’s lips. “Drink, it will ease the pain. And you want to get better soon so you can go back to your Master, don’t you?” He was far from sure that Melkor would want him back but he wouldn’t tell him. He needed to talk to Melkor, even if it meant to stir his wrath again. He wanted to know what he had done to deserve this treatment.

 

“What do you want?”, Melkor asked sharply when Sinthoras entered his study. “I want to know what I have done to anger you, herdir.” “Aranya would be more appropriate, don’t you think?” Melkor voice was like a whip crack. Sinthoras stared at him. He had called him always _herdir,_ from the beginning, Melkor had never taken issue with it. “If it is your wish, aranya.” Sinthoras bowed his head. He felt Melkor’s wrath burn under the surface, he had to obey. There would come other times again.

“Come to me.” Sinthoras obeyed and found himself on Melkor’s lap before he knew what was happening. He felt his Master’s arousal at his buttocks. “It was good that you came.” Melkor kissed him roughly. Suddenly Sinthoras felt a deep aversion against being treated like this. ‘I was only his plaything’, he heard Mablung say. Was he himself nothing different? He struggled until Melkor let him go. “You dare?” Melkor narrowed his eyes.

“With all due respect, aranya, I’m your general not your pleasure slave”, he said coolly and tried not to tremble. “Mablung has woken up by the way. If that even interests you. He’s asking for you, that’s why I came.” “And why should I be interested?” Sinthoras stared at him, not believen, what he heard. “May I remind you, that you sat crying at his bed when he was hurt so badly the last time? You didn’t leave his side.”

Melkor glared at him. “That was nearly five hundred years ago, I’m not interested in it any longer. I’m surprised it survived so long.” “Maybe because you treated him better than all the others?”, Sinthoras asked sharply. “You like him!” “I said, I’m not interested anymore. You are going to hand it over to Artano. That is an order.” Sinthoras felt coldness seep into him. How could he order so impassively the death of an elf, he had shared his bed with for half a millennia? Sinthoras’ sight blurred.

“No, aranya, I can’t do that. I’ll keep him myself if you don’t want him back.” Melkor’s gaze became sly. “Is that so? Maybe this is exactly what you wanted the whole time? You belong to me, Sinthoras.” Melkor gripped his neck and pushed him against the wall. “You swore fealty to me and you are going to obey, if you want it or no.” Sinthoras struggled against his Master who gripped his chin and kissed him. He felt something break inside him. He had longed for so long to be with Melkor – but not like this.

What had become of his Master? He wanted to keep the memory of the love he once had felt for him. He had only one choice. Melkor jerked back when he changed form. “I wish, I'd never met you”, Sinthoras whispered. Hot tears evaporated on his cheeks. Melkor glared at him. “I order you to send me your slave this evening”, he said.

“What?” Sinthoras stared at him. “As you refuse me, you will give your slave to me.” He smiled cruelly and Sinthoras knew he would never see Galathil again if he obeyed. Melkor would kill him, would make him suffer for Sinthoras’ words. “I hate you.” He fled from the room and went for Silwen. Melkor would take vengeance on those he loved, he mustn’t allow him to hurt them.

 

“Search for your mother and Garam and come to me. Take everything with you that matters but hurry.” Ere the young woman could ask a question he had turned around and rushed home. He pushed a pile of clothes into Galathil’s arms and looked after Mablung who slept. Then he waited for Silwen. Nervously he walked up and down the room. What he was on the point of doing would permanently cost him Melkor’s trust, but so be it. Melkor had stopped being the person he had vowed loyalty to – he had loved – long ago.

He should have seen it earlier but he hadn’t wanted to see it. Mo was right, it was easy to shut your eyes... until something happened and you couldn’t anymore. “What happened, father?” Silwen looked frightened. “I angered Melkor, I fear that he will hurt you because of it. You have to go. Now. Come.” “You release us?”, asked Garam incredulously. “No, I’m helping you to run.” Sinthoras smiled bitterly. Silwen and Garam had assimilated into Angband’s command structure better than he had hoped but he knew that no one could save them if Melkor took his anger out on them.

He led the elves to one of the tunnels that led out of Angband. The guards didn’t stop them, he was general, he wasn’t asked questions. When they had walked a bit, Sinthoras said: “If you follow this tunnel you will come out on the other side of the Ered Lindon. There are further guards.” He gave Silwen a sealed letter. “Show them this and they will let you through.”

Silwen had tears in her eyes. “You aren’t coming with us?” Sinthoras shook his head. “There is nowhere I can go out there. You are better off alone, believe me. And I have something to do, before...” He became silent and embraced Silwen. “I’m going to miss you, flamelet.” “Atya...” Silwen sobbed, her tears were wet on his neck. Sinthoras swallowed hard. It would have been so easy to go with them. But what would happen to Mablung if he did?

He let go of his daughter and shook Garam’s hand. “Look after her, Lantelen. I depend on you.” Garam nodded. “I will protect her with my life, you can count on it.” “Let me take off the collar, Galathil.” Sinthoras pulled out the key that closed the lock at the elf’s neck. Galathil hesitated for a moment. It was unfathomable to Sinthoras what he thought in this moment.

Sinthoras bend forward and whispered to him: “I want you to know that I love you very much. I would ask your forgiveness, if I thought you could forgive me, but the way things are between us... I think it’s impossible. I hope you find a real life out there.” He kissed his forehead and took off the collar. “Farewell, enjoy your freedom. Take care.” His voice was hoarse. He never had been able to let him go, but now it was different. Galathil’s life was at stake. He wouldn’t keep him in Angband if that meant his certain death. He loved him too much for that. Better to never see him again.

 

Back in Angband, he had run like he hadn’t ran in a long time, but night was coming fast, he looked for Mo. He was the only one of the generals he could trust to take care of Mablung. He found him on the parade ground where he yelled at one of his captains. Sinthoras interrupted him impatiently. “I need you.” Mo glared at him. “Do you have an idea where your worthless son-in-law is hiding?” “Yes and no.” Sinthoras pulled him away from the orc. “I’ll explain at my room, yes? They don’t need to hear it.”

Mo grunted annoyed. “As you wish.” Sinthoras worked out what to say while he led Mo to his rooms. “Two days ago, Melkor tortured Mablung. I have no idea what made him so angry but it seems to be something that he blames me for too. I send Garam and Silwen, her mother and Galathil away so that he can’t harm them.” Mo stared at him for a moment. “Sent away... you helped them to flee?”

Sinthoras nodded. “Something cost me Melkor’s favour and I... I took care of Mablung. Melkor ordered me to give him to Artano – and I couldn’t.” “Of course not, but...” “I think, that I won’t be free for long now, Mo. It was a trial of my loyalty and I didn’t pass it. You have to look after Mablung. Sauron mustn’t get him. Will you do this for me?” “Of course.” Mo took him by the shoulders. “Do you really think it is that bad? You are Melkor’s friend. Everyone knows that you are well in with him.”

Sinthoras smiled bitterly. “I fear these times are finally over. Whatever he accuses me of, it would be better for you if you distance yourself from me.” Mo shook his head but he remained silent. “Where is Mablung?”, he asked after a while. Sinthoras nodded in the direction of the sleeping room. “He looks really bad. Be gentle with him.”

 

The room was dark, he had refrained from lighting a fire. They would come to take him soon. The room felt awfully empty without Galathil. He felt as lonely as never before in his life. Someone knocked at the door. Sinthoras sighed and stood up, he was read. “Where is your slave? I ordered you to send him to me?” Melkor glared at him. “He is gone”, Sinthoras answered with calm, almost expressionless voice. “Escaped.”

“Escaped you say?” Sinthoras’ head was yanked around by the force of the slap. He was seized by the collar and pushed against the wall, his cheek burned. “I don’t believe you, Sinthoras. You betrayed me, you defied me and broke your vow. I renounce you. You are only a prisoner now and you are going to be treated like one. You deprived me of the possibility to take your slave so I’m going to deal with you tonight.” Melkor smiled cruelly. “You always wanted me to take you. I daresay you aren’t so pleased by it now.” He grabbed Sinthoras’ hair and yanked him around.

 

Melkor still didn't want to believe that Sinthoras had betrayed him, but it was all too obvious. How right Dirhaon had been, he hadn’t wanted to see it. Even when his slave had finally admitted under torture that he... that _it_ had an affair with Sinthoras, he had wanted to give the Maia a second chance. He had been loyal all these years, after all. He had considered him a friend! It seemed as if his mercy hadn’t been accepted. He yanked at the hair in his hand furiously. Sinthoras whimpered and Melkor smiled cruelly, he would soon wish, he had never met the slave. It had paid already, he was finished with it. He never wanted to see it again.

 

Sinthoras stumbled into the cell when Melkor pushed him, before he could react, his hands were bound in irons that hung from the ceiling. “You’ll suffer for your betrayal”, Melkor growled into his ear. The next moment, Sinthoras’ clothes burst into flames. He screamed, fire shouldn’t be able to harm him but Melkor commanded it and it burned him. When the charred fabric fell to the ground his skin was red. He hung in his chains, his shoulders hurt from the strain.

The crack of a whip broke the silence, the hit let him swing back and forth, he regained footing with difficulty and it lessened the pain in his shoulders a little. Not that it made much difference, the blows came in short gaps. “Did you really think, I’d be so blind”, Melkor yelled at him without stopping the beating. “Did you think, I wouldn’t notice that you take my slave?” “That’s not true!” The pain drove him out of his mind but he still understood the meaning of the words. “I wouldn’t dare to lay hands on your property.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Another lash left a bloody welt on his back. “The slave confessed. Love, Sinthoras? Are you truly so stupid to fall in love with an elf?” And then Sinthoras understood. He didn’t know who had put the lie in Melkor’s ear, who had schemed against him, but it was well done.

His heart aced at the thought of what Mablung had had to endure until he had been ready to tell Melkor what he wanted to hear. This wasn’t about him laying hands on Melkor’s property. Melkor believed him and Mablung in love, something he longed for himself and thought not possible. He was jealous! Sinthoras hung his head and submitted to the beating. There was nothing he could say or do. Melkor wouldn’t believe the truth.

 

It took him a moment to realise that the whipping had stopped. Pain coursed through his body and let him tremble. He sobbed hoarsely, hot tears ran down his cheeks. He didn’t allow himself to hope that it was over. And it wasn’t. Melkor twisted one of his nipples roughly, he held a knife. Sinthoras’ pain-clouded mind was too slow to realise what Melkor would do. He screamed when Melkor slowly cut off first one nipple and then the other.

Sinthoras trembled violently he was bathed in cold sweat and when Melkor kissed him and cut into his skin again he could only moan hoarsely. He was near losing consciousness when Melkor turned him around and penetrated him forcefully. He had dug his own grave. He had shown too much interest in Mablung. How should Melkor, who always expected the worst of everyone, believe that he had done it for him?

 

~*~*~

 

Mo sat beside his bed and watched Mablung’s sleep. He hadn’t woken when he carried him here. He was glad that Sinthoras had come to him. To leave him to Sauron was impossible. Sinthoras... Mo gulped. What had he done that he believed, Melkor wouldn’t forgive him? What had Mablung done? Well, he would hear it soon. Melkor had announced that he was going to sit in judgement on his general.

Mablung moaned softly and opened his eyes. He looked around disoriented. Mo caressed his head. “Don’t be frightened, all is well.” “Herdir?” Mablung’s voice sounded so tired, as if he were done with life. “Are you thirsty?”, Mo asked gently. Mablung nodded wearily. He looked miserable, the bruises in his face were an ugly blue-green, his body was wrapped in bandages. Mo helped him to sit up and held a cup to his lips. “Where is Herdir Sinthoras?”, Mablung asked when he finished drinking. His voice was throaty.

“He had to go, that’s why he thought it better to bring you to me.” Mo didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, not in his state. “You should eat, you need to regain your strength.” “For what? My Master doesn’t want me anymore. If only he had killed me!” There was so much pain in Mablung’s melody. “Don’t say that!”, Mo snapped at him, but he knew all too well what shook him. Elvenlove... lovesickness. His Master was so stupid. Couldn’t he see that Mablung would have done everything for him?

“You don’t understand.” Mablung turned away from him and closed his eyes but Mo could feel that he wasn’t asleep. “Leave me alone.” Mo was surprised that Mablung talked like this. He was still alive so he surely hadn’t behaved like this towards Melkor. He allowed it, Mablung was hurt, he needed time and Mo didn’t want to punish him anyway. It was enough what he had done to the boy already. If only he had realised sooner that it was wrong, he could have spared him so much pain.

 

“Is it true? Where you and Sinthoras in love?” Mo was reeling. It couldn’t be true, could it? Sinthoras loved Galathil, he had told him himself. And he would have bet his right hand that Mablung wanted only Melkor. But Melkor had sentenced Sinthoras to incarceration today and Mo had seen what he had done to him. Melkor wouldn’t have done this if he weren’t sure. Melkor had trembled with anger when he had said what Sinthoras was accused of.

“No, herdir.” Mablung sobbed. “Why did you tell Melkor that it is so?”, Mo shouted at him. Why had he lied? “He tortured me!” Mablung’s cheeks were wet with tears. “What else could I have done than to tell him what he wanted to hear? He had already formed his own opinion, he wouldn’t have believed me the truth. He didn’t believe Sinthoras, either, didn’t he?” Mo sighed. “No, Sinthoras is now a prisoner.”

Sinthoras had always been sure that Mablung meant something to Melkor. If that was true it was no wonder that Melkor reacted as he had done. Maybe it really wasn't the fact that Sinthoras had supposedly laid hands on Melkor’s property, Mo believed that Melkor would have forgiven him this. Melkor had allowed Sinthoras always more leeway than his other subjects. Mo caressed Mablungs head. “I didn’t want to be unfair. I’m sorry.” Mablung could have done nothing. He was more at the mercy of Melkor’s mood swings than anyone else. Melkor had forced him to confirm something he believed to be the truth.

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung worried his lower lip with his teeth. He stood in Mormirion’s living room and waited for his new old Master. He was still a bit unsteady on his legs but the fractures had healed. He had been very rude to Mormirion in the last weeks and in hindsight he was surprised that the Maia had allowed it. He knew him to be more strict – and he was indebted to him. Who knew what would have happened to him if Mormirion hadn’t taken him in, now that Sinthoras was a prisoner.

He felt guilty. If he hadn’t been so weak, Sinthoras would still be free. He had repaid his kindness, the help he had so often given to him, badly. He should have let Melkor kill him, then it wouldn’t have come to this, but he hadn’t been able to bear the pain. When the bone in his arm broke, he had yielded. He didn’t know how long it had been going on until then but he had only wanted the pain to stop. He had told his Master what he wanted to hear and begged for mercy, but Melkor hadn’t stopped.

Only when Sinthoras showed up had he stopped and Mablung had fainted. He owed Mormirion obedience. Would Mormirion punish him now that he was well again? He shivered, he didn’t want to be in pain again. ‘You should have thought of that sooner’, his consciousness chided him. He winced when he heard the key turn in the lock. He was home. Mormirion didn’t notice him at first, but when he did, his eyebrow lifted. He seemed surprised to see him up.

Mablung helped him out of his coat. Mormirion thanked him with a nod and sat down to dinner. Mablung knelt beside him, his newly healed leg hurt a bit, he waited for the proper moment. “I’m glad that you are up. Do you feel better?” Mablung started when Mormirion suddenly spoke to him. “Yes, herdir.” Mablung gulped. He should do it, now, but he was frightened. He took Mormirion's hand with trembling fingers and kissed his knuckles.

“I was disrespectful, herdir. Please, punish me as you see fit.” Mablung sobbed, he dreaded the pain, for the first time in a long while. He had gone through so much in Melkor’s service that he had believed nothing could scare him anymore, but that had been before... He shrank back when Mormirion reached out with his hand, but he only caressed his cheek. “You are crying”, he murmured. “Do you fear me so much?”

 

Mo wiped the tears from Mablung’s cheeks. It pierced him to the heart to see him like this, to feel his fear. He had accepted that slaves feared him at first – although rumours about _asea mahan_ were going around. He had helped many elves in the last years. He hadn’t anticipated this fear from Mablung. He knew him. He must know that... No, Mablung was right, when they had met, he would have punished him for his disrespectfulness and after what he had gone through it was no wonder that he was frightened.

Mo sat down on the floor and hugged him. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t be frightened.” He kissed his forehead and rocked him gently. “You aren’t here because I want you as my slave.” Mo caressed his scared back. “And that’s why I won’t punish you. I know it’s not easy to understand for you. You are here because you can go nowhere else. I’ll look after you, Mablung.” Mablung looked up startled. “You remember my name, herdir?” Mo smiled. “How could I forget your name?”

Mablung leaned against him and sobbed. “He doesn’t want me back. He believes I slept with Sinthoras and now he doesn’t want me back.” “His wrath will cool down”, Mo murmured. “You know how he is. You can stay here as long as it takes. Do you really want to go back to him, even after...” Mablung nodded crying unable to speak. Mo tightened his arms around him. He didn’t believe that Melkor would want him back but he couldn’t say that to him.

Love was so unreasonable and regardless of what Melkor said, he believed in fate. Why had is father wanted this elf to fall in love with Melkor, if it led to nothing? He only now realised how deeply Melkor had hurt Mablung. The elf had readily accepted humiliation and pain, he would have done everything for is Master. Even when he had woken, he had asked first of all for his Master. He loved him, even so he had caused him so much suffering.

Mo lifted Mablung up and carried him to the bed, he wanted to give him a little peace. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the case with his flutes from a drawer. He selected one of walnut and gently pushed the hair from Mablungs face. “Close your eyes and listen.” Mo put the flute to his lips and started to play. The tunes filled the room, spoke of peace and sleep and pleasant dreams. Mo closed his eyes and let his finger play what his soul wanted. When his song ended, Mablung slept peacefully, he even smiled.

Mo undressed quietly and lay down beside him. When he embraced Mablung he snuggled up against him and murmured: “Herdir.” Mormirion knew that he didn’t mean him. He wondered if he still cried for his old love in his dreams, a love he had never held in his arms and glorified because of it. He knew that it would never have been like it was between elves. Even if she had accepted his love, they wouldn’t be together anymore. Sauron had always mocked him because he still thought of Tinwelóte, but Sauron had humiliated him where he could.

Why did you always fall in love with someone you couldn’t have? But Mablung had had his beloved and he had known that he had to give himself up if he wanted to be with him. Mo embraced him tighter. How hopeless it must have seemed to him – and how hopeless must he feel now! ‘You don’t know what you threw away, aranya’, he thought. ‘What servant could be more loyal than one who loves his Master?’ But Melkor hadn't been able to believe that he meant something to Sinthoras, that his best friend would never betray him. How could he believe that a slave loved him?


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Melkor’s hand found only emptiness beside him, that woke him. For a moment he wondered where Mablung was – then he remembered. He had cast him out, he belonged to Mo now. He sighed, how he wished to embrace him now. He wasn’t angry anymore, only unhappy. Unhappy that he had lost him, unhappy that he had lost Sinthoras. He had given him command over the army that would crush Gondolin. He waited daily for the news of his escape.

It pained Melkor that their friendship had ended like this. How could Sinthoras have believed that he would get away with it? Love! Love made everything worse than it was already. Love destroyed everything. A soft moan reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He had taken the slave to ease his loneliness but it wasn’t Mablung and he hated it for it. How much he missed his little slave. The elf had never defied him, had never treaded him disrespectful, he would never have such a slave again.

At least he had survived. Melkor knew that he had injured him badly in his wrath. He realised now that it wasn’t his fault. This had originated from Sinthoras, not from his slave, it had had to be like that. His slave couldn’t defy a Maia. And elves loved in this strange way that took up their whole being. Melkor felt so alone and it was so silent. Since Mablung was gone the Music was gone too. He curled up sobbing and cried himself to sleep.

 

Mablung froze when he recognised the Maia who stood in the doorway. Sauron looked down on him with contempt. Mormirion had taken up Sinthoras’ duties, he often came home late. Mablung’s heart raced, to be alone with Sauron was his personal nightmare. “Is your Master home?”, Sauron asked sharply. “No, herdir, but I’m sure he’ll be home soon.” A hard slap hit Mablung’s cheek. “I didn’t ask your opinion, slave”, Sauron snapped at him and made himself comfortable in a chair. “I’ll wait for him, you can make yourself useful.”

Mablung followed him slowly, he was sick with fear. “Hurry up!” Sauron grabbed his collar, the collar that was supposed to protect him from abuse, and forced him to his knees. He opened his trousers and pushed Mablung’s head down. “Go on, lick me”, Sauron growled. Mablung opened his mouth. He had tears in his eyes and was near panic. He was so cold!

Sauron gripped his hair and trust into his mouth. “You are good for this at least, slave”, he moaned. Suddenly he stopped. “Let him go. Mablung go to the sleeping room and close the door.” Mablung stood up trembling when the hand in his hair loosened its grip and looked up. Mormirion stood behind Sauron and held a knife to his throat. Mablung felt his wrath burn hot and fled.

 

Mo waited until the frightened slave had left the room before he took the knife from Sauron’s throat and walked around the chair to look at him. He seethed with rage. “What do you think you are doing?”, he yelled at him. “He is my slave not fair game!” Sauron laughed. “You have little use for him anyway, you’d rather be in his place! Well? As you interrupted us you can continue where he left off.”

Every clear thought left Mo and he punched Sauron in the face. “You won’t treat me like scum any longer! Get lost! I don’t want to see you here ever again!” Sauron held his bloody nose. “You’re going to regret...” “Out!” Mo's rage let the oil lamp on the wall burst, the fire blazed up before it died. He would no longer put up with this, never again. Sauron hurried to get away from him. He extinguished the burning oil with a thought and set about cleaning up the mess.

He was startled himself what his anger had done. Fire normally followed his will only reluctantly, he was more tuned to the earth. Earth and stone and metal, the things Arda was made of. Mo reproached himself for not protecting Mablung better. This shouldn’t have happened. He looked at the closed door sighing. What would wait for him on the other side? Sinthoras had told him how he had found him in Sauron’s torture chamber.

He opened the door, the lamp had burst here too. Mablung cowered on the bed, huddled up against the wall as if he wanted to fuse with it, the fire reflected in his wide eyes. “Sauron is gone, you don’t need to be frightened.” Mablung winced at his words, Mo had spoken harsher than he wanted. He closed his eyes and breathed a few times deeply. The last thing Mablung needed now was a fuming Maia, or he would think he was angry with him.

“Mablung”, he said more gently. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have let him to you, if I had known that he was coming here.” Mablung started to sob. Mo walked to the bed slowly, he didn’t want to scare him further. “May I sit down?”, he asked tenderly. “It’s your bed, herdir, I’m just an appendage.” Mo sat sighing. “Not for me. Haven’t you wondered why I didn’t touch you since you are here?” Indeed he knew that it was so. He could feel it every evening when he came home and did nothing than share is food with him.

Mablung slept on the couch, they didn’t even share a bed. “Yes, but...” Mo caressed his sore cheek. “I know how it feels to be treated like a thing. Sauron has seen to it.” Mablung bit his lip. “Did he mean this when he said you want to be in my place?”, he asked warily. Mo froze. “You heard?” “I wasn’t able to not hear, herdir. I’m sorry.” Mablung cringed as if he expected a blow and maybe he did.

“Yes, that’s what he meant but it isn’t true, he only wanted to daunt me.” He thought for a moment about telling him the truth. Mablung was... He desired him, more than he had thought, when he agreed to take care of him. He knew of course that he mustn’t act on his desires. And what he longed for, wasn’t only to take him. What he imagined would only unsettle Mablung. How could he understand that he wished to be beaten by him? Pain meant for him punishment and humiliation.

Mo stared at the fire that still burned on the floor where the oil from the lamp had spilled. “He used me like a slave, you saw the scars on my back. I don’t feel the urge to do the same to someone else.” He had hidden this so long from everyone and still, it was easy to tell him. “You are save from me. I know, I was cruel to you but you can trust me. I don’t mean to hurt you.” The fire flickered and burned out, they sat in almost utter darkness. Mo searched for a candle and cleaned up the oil and shards.

 

When he came back, Mablung lay with spread legs on his belly. Mo’s mouth went dry. Why did he tempt him like this? His self-control wasn’t endless. “Why are you doing this?”, he whispered. “Didn’t you listen to me?” “I did, herdir, but... I’m a slave almost my whole live, herdir. You should know, you trained me. If no one tells me, what to do, I become insecure.” Mablung turned his head and Mo saw something in his eyes he couldn’t read.

“My Master won’t take me back.” Mablung smiled sadly. “You don’t have to lie to me, I know that it is so. You are my Master now. Show me how I can serve you. Sometimes one has to do what one is frightened of to overcome the terror. That applies as much to you as to me.” Mo sat down on the bed and caressed his head, he bit is lip. “You want me to beat you?” He felt great respect for this courageous elf.

“Yes, herdir, and if you are honest to yourself, you want it too.” Mablung was right and it would be so easy. Mo stroked up and down Mablung’s back, he felt the fresh scars under his palm. ‘If one is frightened of something...’ His muscles were tense, but he had said, that he wanted him. Never before had a slave said this to him, not in a way he could believe. He wished Mablung to say the truth. Mo walked slowly to his closet and pushed his uniforms aside so he could see the wooden back where he hid his whips, hung up on pegs.

He chose one with soft lashes, it would only redden Mablung’s skin, nothing in comparison with what he had endured already. “Promise me that you will tell me if you can’t take it anymore, I don’t want to ask more of you than you can bear.” Mablung nodded. “I promise, herdir.” In a whisper he added: “Thank you.”

Mormirion tickled his skin with the tips of the lashes. The elf was much too tense, he needed to relax. He caressed his back with the whip until Mablung moved into the touch. The first lash was so light it looked more like another caress, he hadn’t done this in a very long time. He slapped Mablung’s backside again, harder this time and Mablung moaned softly but it didn’t sound anguished so he continued.

 

It was so very sensual. Mablung moaned with pleasure when another slap made his skin burn. Why had he been frightened by this? He answered the question himself: His last experience in this regard had been awful. ‘Don’t think of it, it is past’, he chided himself. Mormirion was his Master now. He had served him before, Mablung had never feared the memories of it. He liked Mormirion, although he didn’t love him as he loved Melkor.

Mormirions lashes became harder now but not unbearable, his skin felt hot and tingled. He was so aroused! Moaning he rubbed himself against the mattress. Mablung moved towards the touch when Mormirion’s fingertip rubbed his entrance. “I want you, Mablung. May I?” His voice was hoarse with pleasure.

Mablung gave a laugh. When had someone asked him last? He wanted to say that, when he realised that Mormirion meant it. And that it was important to him. ‘He used me like a slave.’ Mablung had thought that he had exaggerated but maybe it was the truth. He thought Sauron capable of anything. He hesitated. Did he really want it? “You may, herdir. Do it now, please!”, he moaned and went to his knees. It felt right. That he had asked him, made it right.

 

Mo was taken aback when he saw Mablung’s obvious arousal. He had to hold back to not simply grip his hips and plunge into him, but he didn’t want to hurt him – well not in that way. Hurriedly he rummaged around a drawer for the oil and prepared him thoroughly. The aroused moans the elf uttered drove him mad. Before he entered him slowly, he kissed Mablung’s shoulder and whispered: “You are allowed to come when you are ready.” He knew better than to think this to be self-evident.

It didn’t take long until they both came. Mo embraced Mablung. “Are you well?”, he asked gently. Now, that his wants were satisfied and he could think clearly again, he felt ashamed. He was such an idiot! Of course Mablung said such things. He had been trained to please. And of course he had been aroused, _he_ had taught him that. He was just very good in hiding his true feelings. “Yes, herdir, I’m fine.” He sounded completely sincere.

Mo kept silent for a moment, then he said: “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have done this.” “Why, herdir?”, asked Mablung haltingly. Mo was surprised that he even dared to speak but maybe that was a good sign. “Because I promised myself to never again touch a slave. I know why you say these things. You are so dependent of me, you think you need to keep me pleased. I should know that you would never dare to say no to me. It was me, after all, who inflicted the first scars on your back.”

“Because I was a fool and thought you would forget me.” Mo shook his head. “Because you grieved for your friend. Because you didn’t want to be what I forced you to become. It was wrong and I’m sorry.” Mo stood up, he would sleep on the couch today. He was almost out of the room when Mablung called after him. “Stay with me, herdir, please don’t leave me!” Mo felt his panic. What was the matter? “Why?”

Mablung’s eyes were wide with fear when he turned around and Mo felt deep gratitude that he had never looked at him like that. “I don’t want to be alone. Please!” Mablung sobbed. “I dream of... of Him. Stay with me, hold Him off.” Mo sat down on the bed. “You have nightmares of Sauron?” Mablung nodded trembling. “I’ll never let him to you again, I promise.”

“Hold me, please.” Mo laid down and embraced him gingerly. Mablung snuggled up against him looking for shelter. How did he deserve this trust? Mo longed to be able to dream but he knew now that he mustn’t. He would never again do something that he would regret later. Mablung made it so easy for him to believe something that could never be.

 

“Why are you so sad?” Mablung could feel the deep pain of Mormirion’s soul clearly. He knew that he talked too much but this new Mormirion didn’t seem to be bothered about it. To the contrary, it almost seemed as if he waited for someone to ask the right questions. “Because I know that I’m alone with my opinions. I’m here, I serve Melkor and I don’t want it to be otherwise, but slavery is wrong. Sinthoras was to only one whom I could tell something like this and now he is gone.”

Mormirion pulled him close a tear fell on Mablungs naked shoulder. “I... do you think we could start over? I don’t want to be your Master, Mablung. Let me be your friend.” He sounded so lonely. Mablung was lonely, too. Galathil was free, Sinthoras a prisoner and, and that was the worst, he wasn’t allowed to be with Melkor. He had always know of course that his Master would never return his feelings, but to simply be with him had been enough for him all these years. Now he hadn’t even that.

“But you are a Maia. Why would you want someone like me as a friend?” He was only an elf. A slave! “And why should a Maia not be the friend of an elf?” Mormirion sighed. “I know that you don’t understand, no one does. You have been talked into believing that you are worthless. You don’t need to answer, you would only say again what you think I want to hear.” To Mablung, still shaky from his encounter with Sauron, every excuse not to sleep right now was welcome and the bitterness in Mormirion’s voice touched him.

Mormirion despised himself so much. But... “Herdir, if you hadn’t trained me, do you really think I would still live?”, Mablung said softly. “You had so much patience with me that no one else would have had. And I don’t say this because I am a slave. Your lessons saved my life when I caught my Master’s eye. He isn’t patient.” Mablung laced his fingers with Mormirion’s. He wasn’t frightened of him. His Master’s anger wouldn’t have been far away in such a situation but Mormirion was different.

“Maybe you are right, maybe it is wrong. I don’t want to think about it, it is easier to just accept it. But I’m sure of one thing: I would be dead if you hadn’t been and I want to live.” He didn’t know himself why he had urged him to take him but it had felt right. He had wanted it although Mormirion didn’t believe him. He’d rather be with Melkor, but... Mormirion pressed his hands. “You think the result makes a bad action better?”

“Maybe. And... you are doing so much good. Even I have heard of _asea mahan_.” Mablung hesitated. Mormirion didn’t want to be his Master, it felt strange to hear that from a Maia. “I can’t believe that General Mormirion would want me as a friend, but I can believe _asea mahan_.” Mormirion laughed choking. “Call me Mo, Mablung, not herdir. I can’t set you free but as long as you are here you don’t need to do anything that you don’t want.”

When he wasn’t desired, what use was he? But no, Mormirion desired him, but he only wanted him if he wanted him, too. Mablung kissed Mo’s cheek, he believed him. He could feel that he meant it and, what was even more important, that it wasn’t just a whim. When was the last time that someone had wanted him for his own sake?

“Mo”, he whispered although his heart raced. It was a dangerous path he tread. It was never good for a slave to have hope, it was too easily defeated. The smile, Mormirion gave him, filled him with golden warmth. And still, he would have given everything he offered him away, if only his Master had wanted him back.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

The city burned. Sinthoras saw it when the narrow path made a turn. He followed the fugitives, Ecthelion hadn’t been able to kill him, so he head to find someone else to finish the job. His Master didn’t want him, he wanted him to die. “Don’t come back”, Melkor had said. He gritted his teeth when pain shot through his left arm, it was broken.

“Not a step further!” An elf blocked the way. He leaned against the steep rock face, his armour was dented and broken, blood flowed from a wound in his stomach. “I don’t have much longer but I’ll take you with me, monster.” Sinthoras lifted his hands and walked slowly closer. A step before him he knelt and bowed his head, offered the elf his neck. “Kill me”, he said. Cold steel touched his skin then it went away.

“Stand up!”, the elf snapped at him. “Stand up and fight. I don’t kill unarmed soldiers, you won’t make me a murderer.” Sinthoras stood up. “May I ask your name, herdir?” “I’m Glorfindel of the Golden... no, I’m just Glorfindel. You are Gothmog.” Sinthoras almost affirmed it but then he thought different of it. He closed his eyes and changed shape. He wasn’t the monster the elf saw in him.

“My name is Sinthoras.” He drew his sword. “Kill me, Glorfindel.” He made an attack that fell short intentionally. He didn’t feel the blow that killed his body, it didn’t hurt. Before his eyes broke he saw Glorfindel falling to the floor and a little boy running back around the next bend and crying for Glorfindel. Then it became dark.

 

~*~*~

 

Mo’s gaze flew to Melkor when the orc told of Sinthoras’ death. His Master had turned ashen, his hands clenched around the armrests of his throne. Mo’s heart hurt. He had lost his best friend for ever and Melkor had too. He looked as if he fought tears. Shortly after the orc had finished his report, Melkor dismissed them.

Mo followed him with his eyes when he left the throne room, he looked so lonely. Did he wish Mablung to be with him? He knew that Mablung longed for it. Sinthoras... Sinthoras had thought Melkor to be in love with the elf. Mo staggered home without really noticing where he went. His sight was blurred, he wasn’t ashamed of his tears.

Mablung wore the clothes he had obtained for him, his smile vanished when he saw him. “What happened?” “Sinthoras is dead.” Mo swallowed the sob, that threatened to come out, with difficulty. “Melkor had sent him to conquer Gondolin, he followed a group of fugitives. His soldiers found him later lying dead on the pass.” Mo felt Mablung’s pain and was surprised to see him cry.

“He was always so good to me.” Mablung sobbed and Mo embraced him. “He helped me as well as he could, when my Master...” Mablung broke off and looked up. “How is he?” “Not well, I think.” Mo cupped Mablung’s face between his hands and looked searchingly into his eyes. If he judged Melkor wrong, he would be responsible for Mablung’s dead, it was a risk, but... “You want to be with him.” He laughed softly when Mablung stared at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t see how you look at him. I believe you have deep feelings for him.”

 

Mablung didn’t know what to think. His whole self longed to run to Melkor and give him comfort. Regardless of how angry he had been at Sinthoras, his death must devastate him. He had been his friend! Would Mormirion really let him go? And even if he did: “But he doesn’t want me anymore.” Again tears came to his eyes, it hurt so much.

“He needs you now, Mablung, he is lonely and hurt. Maybe he doesn’t know it himself but he needs now someone familiar at his side, not some unknown slave. I could give you a little freedom and he will never do this, but I think you know that. Do you want to go to him?” Mablung nodded without hesitation, his heart knew the answer. Mormirion smiled. “Of course you want. You are his, you always will be, because you want to be. How could you belong to someone else, if your heart belongs to him.”

Mablung stared at him startled. He knew! “Go!” Mormirion pushed him gently to the door. “There’s nothing to keep you with me.” Mablung went to his toes and kissed the Maia gently. “Thank you for everything, Mo. I won’t forget what you did for me.” Then he ran to Melkor. Back to where he belonged.

When he opened the door he could already feel the grief of his Master. It assailed him so violently that it almost drove him to  his knees. Mablung sobbed. He undressed with trembling fingers, he couldn’t come to his Master in clothes. Was Mormirion right? Or would Melkor only send him away again. Mablung’s heart constricted at the thought.

 

Melkor sat in front of the mirror, he had closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked. Tears of grief, of remorse, of self-loathing. Sinthoras’ death was his fault, he had sent him to this fight. He hadn’t wanted this, not his death, he loved him too much for that. He could have lived with never seeing him again – had intended this command as an opportunity for him to flee –, but that it had had come to this... He sobbed, why hadn’t he just exiled him?

He started when suddenly the Music came back, it had been silent for so long. A hand touched his hair and started to comb him slowly. Melkor opened his eyes and looked in the Mirror where he saw Mablung’s strained face. The slave hurried to lower his gaze when their eyes met and took his hand away. “Don’t stop”, Melkor whispered. “Don’t stop, please.” He buried his face in his hands and started to sob. He realised vaguely that his slave shouldn’t see him like this, but he didn’t care about it now. Mablung was here.

 

Mablung trembled, it frightened him that his Master showed himself so weak in front of him. He didn’t knew how to react to it. He couldn’t possibly embrace him. Couldn’t he? Of course he could! Melkor was unhappy, he didn’t need a slave now, he needed someone who eased his loneliness. Mablung gently pulled Melkor’s head to his belly, always ready to let go.

He was going to be punished for this disrespectfulness, later, but he loved his Master so much, he couldn’t see him sad. Gently he caressed his hair. His Master flung his arms around him and sobbed. “Don’t leave me”, he whispered. “I’m here, herdir.” He wished he could let him forget for a while what had happened or at least to give him comfort. To simply be a good slave so that Melkor wasn’t alone.

Mablung licked his lips. He shouldn’t talk so much, but he had the feeling that Melkor didn’t care at the moment if he broke the rules. “Can I do anything for you, herdir?” “I want to go to bed, I only want to sleep”, Melkor mumbled. “Stay with me, I feel better now that you are here.” Mablung couldn’t speak, it made him so happy that his Master said this. Maybe it meant that he wouldn’t send him away again.

He held his Master tightly and rocked him when he shook with sobs. After a while his Master asked: “Why are you here?” “Herdir Mormirion sends me, he doesn’t want you to be alone.” Mablung kissed his Master and let his hand wander down his back. “Let me comfort you”, he whispered.

 

The tenderness of his slave felt so good. Melkor sighed and leaned into his touch, then he remembered why he had sent Mablung away. “Don’t.” He pushed him back. “You are grieving as much as I am. It would be heartless to use you now.” Mablung stared at him. “I belong to you, herdir”, he whispered. “I always belonged only to you. I could have never betrayed you.” “But you confessed.”

“Only because you tortured me.” Mablung’s eyes filled with tears when he remembered, it had been so awful. “I would have done anything as long as the pain stopped! Don’t you know that Herdir Sinthoras wouldn’t deceive you. How could you rather believe a slave than your best friend!” Mablung clung to him and cried.

Melkor needed a few moments until he could understand the words. “There was nothing between you?” “Never!” Mablung almost screamed. “He would have never touched me without your leave.” He felt cold, could it really be that he had made such a mistake? Had he tortured his friend for nothing? Was Sinthoras dead because of a lie? “You aren’t lying”, Melkor croaked with breaking voice. His heart knew the answer.

Why had he listened to Dirhaon? He now realised that the man had had only his own promotion in view. Maybe one of his generals had goaded him. How could he have been so blind. A scheme, it had only been a scheme to get rid of Sinthoras. “Forgive me”, he whispered and meant Mablung and Sinthoras likewise. He embraced the slave tightly and closed his eyes, hoped that sleep would come soon and let him forget. He hated himself.

 

~*~*~

 

Namo’s bodiless fea wandered his halls on his way to a special guest. Sinthoras... Why had he come here, to his enemies? He had never been one of theirs. The Maia’s fea shrank back when he felt him. He didn’t want to touch him. Namo felt his fear – and his pain, a pain so deep that he almost felt it himself.

‘You don’t need to be frightened of me. I won’t hurt you.’ The thoughts hung in the room for a while but when the Maia didn’t answer, Namo continued: ‘What happened?’ ‘You know, what happened.’ Despair. Namo writhed. Even after all this time, after all these deaths, it was always terrible.

‘I want to hear it from you.’ Sinthoras moved back further. ‘I can’t. Please, I don’t want to think of it.’ ‘You have to.’ Namo knew that he sounded heartless but he needed to see the Maia’s life from his view. Only this way could he judge rightly. Sinthoras moaned softly. ‘As you wish.’ A flood of memories came over him, he braced himself.

 

He held the Maia’s fea, comforted him with tender thoughts. ‘What did I do wrong? Why has he pushed me away? Doesn’t he know how much he means to me?’ ‘I don’t know, Sinthoras. I wished I knew the answer.’ He still loved him, after all that Melkor had done to him, the Maia still loved him. How much Namo hated Melkor, he created so much suffering, he didn’t even stop at his own friends.

Sometimes Namo was at odds with Eru when he saw all this. How could he have wanted so much suffering. Or was Melkor right and he did this against Eru’s will. ‘Am I a prisoner?’ Sinthoras fear was obvious. He was aware that he couldn’t defy him. ‘Yes, but you needn’t be afraid. You suffered enough. I don’t judge you for your Master’s deeds.’ ‘But I don’t regret to have followed Melkor. If I could, I would go back to him.’

‘I know.’ Namo smiled. ‘And yet.’ He didn’t explain his decision, he never did. ‘I wish, I’d never been born. I wish, I could fall asleep and never wake. I want to forget it all. Why can’t I hate him? Why do I still love him?’ Namo held him gently. ‘Do you really love him? Do you love _him_ or do you love the one he was? He wasn’t always so cruel, you know that better than me. Is he still the one he was or has he changed so that you don’t know him anymore?’

Sinthoras shrank back. ‘If he changed so much it was your fault!’, he screamed. ‘You didn’t leave him alone. The war changed him but he was still himself, more cruel maybe but still Melkor. When he came back from his imprisonment, I didn’t recognise him! It is your fault!’ Namo sighed. ‘I’ll leave you know, before you say something that will anger me’, he said coldly.

He left the Maia deeply in thought. He had already thought about this... but no. Melkor had turned away from them. He had destroyed the lamps and with this act declared war on them. Maybe his imprisonment had changed him, but he had chosen his way himself, he would have followed it also if he hadn’t been shut away. There was nothing they could have done differently. The song was sung, nothing could change it.

 

~*~*~

 

The slave lay warm in his arms, the head on his chest. Melkor tousled his hair. He wished for Mablung to stay. He was thankful that Mo had sent him. Without him, this night would have been terrible. Remorse and self-loathing drowned him. He had done so much wrong. Why hadn’t he talked to Sinthoras? Why had he believed Mablung's pain-enforced confession? It was all his fault.

He had killed his friend and pushed his wonderful slave away. He couldn’t take him back, Mo would cede him to him if he asked but the elf would never again be able to serve him without fear. He had gotten too used to a happy, submissive, without fear obeying Mablung, had learned to value him, to be able to bear his fear.

He remembered how it had been in the first years, he didn’t want it to be like that again. Melkor realised that Mablung had opened his eyes and watched him shyly. “You should go now.” Again, a last time, he caressed his cheek – and saw with astonishment that the slave had tears in his eyes.

 

Mablung stifled a sob. “You don’t want be back. But I thought...” “Mormirion surely is already waiting for you.” Melkor swallowed his tears, he didn’t want to cry again in front of the slave. “But Herdir Mormirion has sent me back to you, he doesn’t wait for me.” Mablung felt as if his heart had been pierced. He had believed his Master wanted him back. They had embraced each other the whole night! But Melkor hadn’t taken him. Maybe he truly didn’t want him.

“I don’t want you to fear me, you’ll be better off with Mormirion.” “I don’t fear you, herdir. I want to be with you, I belong to you.” Mablung clung to him, but Melkor pushed him back again. “Why?” ‘Because I love you.’ Mablung sighed, he couldn’t tell him that. “I’m your slave.” He led Melkor’s hand to the brand on his thigh. “I bear your sign on my skin. I feel save with you, because I know you. I know how I can please you. I don’t fear you. I belong to you, not to Herdir Mormirion.” Melkor’s finger traced the brand.

“You don’t fear me? Although I hurt you so much?” “No, herdir.” Mablung shivered. He didn’t want to think of it, it had been so terrible. “Please, don’t send me away.” Mablung closed his eyes and sighed softly when his Master’s hand moved from his thigh to his crotch. He rolled to his back and spread his legs. His Master whispered in his ear: “You are a gift. You... mean very much to me. I’m mad with grief but that you are here makes it bearable.”

A radiant smile lit Mablung’s face. He guarded Melkor’s rare expressions of affection like gold. His Master kissed him gently and he moaned into the kiss. It felt so good to be touched by him. “I need you now.” Melkor’s breath was fast. “Are you prepared?” Mablung felt like being pushed into ice water. That wasn’t good. “No, herdir. Forgive me, but...” Melkor stopped him with another kiss. “When should you have done that. Do you believe I had asked if it didn’t matter to me?” He had come to know his slave well by now. “Wait a moment.”

Mablung lay motionless and breathed heavily. Although the shock had lessened his arousal a bit, waves of pleasure coursed through his body. He moaned when his Master touched him with oily fingers and prepared him hurriedly. Then he was over him again and entered him. Mablung moved with him, his fingers buried in the blanked. It hurt but it felt so good to feel him inside him again.

 

It was so wonderful to have him back. Melkor had closed his eyes, Mablung’s music a soft sound that filled him. Surely it was coincidence that his power had stirred when Mablung came home, but it was to him as if he had woken it for him. Melkor’s skin was slick with sweat his thrusts fast and hard. It wouldn’t take him long to come, he hadn’t had someone in a long time.

He wrapped his hand around the slave’s cock. He had missed him so much, the way he moved under him, the small sounds he made and his music around everything. Melkor kissed him with longing. He didn’t want to think about why he hadn’t been with him so long. “Come”, he whispered and felt Mablung come into his hand. Melkor thrust into him again and came too.

Mablung took his hand and licked it clean without needing an order. “You are so wonderful”, Melkor murmured and tousled his hair, it had grown since he had seen him last. Melkor embraced him and simply enjoyed to lie beside him while the sweat dried on their skin. “Would you like to bathe?”, he asked finally. “Very much, herdir.” The slave squeaked when Melkor lifted him up and carried him to the bathroom.

He only needed a thought to heat the water. Melkor savoured the feeling of the power flowing through him so easily and kissed his slaves forehead, simply because he was happy. Mablung sighed contented when the warm water flowed around him. Melkor sat down, holding him still in his arms and caressed the slave’s slender body, touched the new scars with regret and let his hands finally rest on his belly. The slave had laid his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes, obviously enjoying the tenderness.

 

Mablung didn’t want to make his Master sad again by asking about Sinthoras, but he wanted to know. “What happens now to Herdir Sinthoras?” “What do you mean?” Melkor stopped his caresses. “When I was in the mines I knew a Maia. He died, a friend told me that he had gone home. Does that mean, Herdir Sinthoras is in Aman? Will they punish him?”

Melkor sighed. He didn’t want to think about it. Sinthoras knew so much about him that could harm him but he worried much more for his friend. What would they do to him? “I don’t know. Yes, I think he is in Aman. I hope they won’t hurt him.” Mablung turned a little and wrapped his arms around his Master. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to make you sad.” Melkor buried his face in his slaves hair.

He should punish him now, but he couldn’t He didn’t want to hurt him again and it was already late, he had much to do. “I have to go now. Stay.” He kissed him and hid his thoughts. He would make Dirhaon pay for his scheme. “I’ll see you in the evening.” ‘Will you be here?’, he thought but couldn’t say it. The thought that Mablung could be gone again made his throat feel tight. But no, he had almost begged him to be allowed to stay. He would go nowhere. Melkor didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t question his choice – he didn’t doubt that it had been a choice. He knew Mo, knew more about his activities than the Maia could be aware of.

 

~*~*~

 

Sinthoras still had an element of awe for Namo, although he knew him well by now. He wasn’t allowed to leave Mandos and Namo watched him, although he didn’t speak much to him. At first Sinthoras had felt threatened by this, but by now his feelings had turned. He had always thought of Namo as a dark, dangerous shadow, but he wasn’t. Namo was strict, but he was just and he could be full of warmth when he talked to the dead.

He needed to ask, he carried so much guilt on his back. ‘Would you allow me to help you. I want to heal the wounds I inflicted.’ Sinthoras was filled with Namo’s smile. ‘So you want to enter into my service?’ Sinthoras nodded hesitantly. ‘You need to be completely sure.’ Namo became serious. ‘Do you want to cut the threads that bind you to Melkor and serve me?’

‘He already cut them, I don’t owe him anything.’ Sinthoras still felt grief at the thought but also anger. He had done nothing wrong, Melkor should have known him well enough to know it. But Melkor had changed so much. He didn’t want to serve the one, he had turned into. ‘I’m sure’, he said. ‘Melkor has pushed me away. Let me enter your service.’


	31. Chapter Thirty

“You know what to do then. And be punctual!” The five boys hurried to nod. No one of them would dare to be late. “Why are you standing around and staring? Go back to your work?”, the overseer snapped at them and they ran back to their work. “So the king is celebrating the Fall of Gondolin”, Kaikos asked the soldier.

“Yes, but we won’t have a share in it. The higher-ups and a few of the favoured captains will celebrate and amuse themselves with the slaves and the likes of us can be happy if he is allowed to choose them.” The orc motioned in the direction of the forge and looked sullen. “You don’t have some fresh meat running around here, do you? The Masters like unused slaves.” Kaikos shook his head. “Sorry, Ghorn. You already saw the younger ones, the others are older.”

“Pity.” Ghorn turned to go when his gaze fell on a small, blond slave who operated the bellows. “What’s with him?” “Who?” Kaikos followed the others gaze. “Oh, him. He’s too young, Ghorn. He’s only twelve or so.” “So what? He’s cute, that’s most important.” “You know that the king doesn’t like it when they are too young.”

“Nah, he has only eyes for his little beauty and you can’t blame him for it. He won’t take notice of the other slaves. Call him over, I want to look at him... or do you want to keep him for yourself?” Ghorn grinned at him. “Nonsense. I told you he’s too young. I like them grown up.” Kaikos lifted his voice. “Laiglas! Come over!”

The elf’s head wiped around. He only waited long enough for another elf to take his place then he ran to the waiting orcs and fell to his knees. “He knows what’s right and proper”, Ghorn murmured. “Stand up!” The boy complied trembling. “Undress.” Kaikos saw the boy hesitating and thought: ‘Just do it. Hurry up, what are you waiting for.’ And as if Laiglas had heard him, he started to undress.

Kaikos breathed easier. He hadn’t told Ghorn the full truth. He liked the boy but he had wanted to wait until he was older. Laiglas was naked now, Ghorn grinned and let his hand wander over the boy’s pale skin. “I knew that you would be beautiful. Come to the kitchen entrance at nightfall. Do you know where that is?” “Yes, Master”, Laiglas squeaked. “Good. And don’t dare to be late.” “Of course, Master.” “Go back to your work. Hurry!”

Laiglas dressed as fast as he could and ran back to his bellows. “I’m finished here.” Ghorn nodded at Kaikos by way of greeting. “We’ll meet tomorrow? We can celebrate for ourselves.” “Sure! See you.” Kaikos looked after him thoughtfully. He pittied Laiglas. Not a nice way to lose ones virginity at such a party.

 

“Valar! Boy, how old are you?” Laiglas jumped when the elf spoke to him. “I’m...” He coughed his voice was high with fear. “I’m twelve.” “Twelve?” The other slave stared at him. “Bastards. Don’t worry, boy, we’ll take care of you. What’s your name?” “Laiglas.” “I’m Aeglam”, his new protector said and pushed him to the middle of the room where they had been brought to wash themselves.

Laiglas was sick with fear. He knew what would happen. How had he gotten himself into this? He couldn't do this! “Listen for a moment, comrades!”, Aeglam called. The other elves in the room turned around and looked at them. Laiglas lowered his face, his cheeks aflame. “Laiglas here is only twelve. I think, I'm speaking for everyone of you, if I say that we can’t let him go out there.” Approving murmurs could be heard.

“I know that no one likes the attention of the masters. I don’t either. But if we let it happen that a boy, who we could have protected, is raped”, Laiglas jerked at the last words, Aeglam pressed his shoulders encouragingly, “then we don’t deserve to be spared. Make sure that no one sees him.” In this moment a sullen looking orc came in. “Food is ready. Hurry up, the Masters are hungry.”

“Listen to me, Laiglas”, Aeglam murmured to him. “You carry your plate to the entrance to the hall and one of us will take it from there. Be careful that no one sees you dawdling. Try to be invisible, don’t show them your fear. Do you understand?” “Yes. Aeglam...” “Yes?” The older elf smiled at him. “I’m so frightened.” “I know. I’m frightened too, but we don’t have a choice. Do as I told you and you may get out of this unscathed. We'll look after you, boy, but we can’t be too obvious about it, it wouldn’t do us any good.”

 

Laiglas stood at the entrance to the throne room and watched the events. He had scruples because he was relatively save her, while the others... He swallowed his tears. He had known what would happen but he hadn’t been ready to watch it. He had thought they would at least leave the room!

Aeglam had soon been pulled on the lap of the Maia’s lap whom he had refilled the glass. Laiglas had turned away, he couldn’t watch. When Aeglam had come his way shortly after and had seen him cry, he had asked if something was wrong. “I... I’m fine. But you... what he did to you...”

Aeglam had looked surprised. “You cry for my sake? I’m fine, Laiglas. It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last this evening. I don’t like it much, but it could be worse. Come, stop crying. Don’t worry.” He had smiled at Laiglas and gone back. That had been a while ago. By now the last course had been served and the wine flowed freely.

A voice jolted him from his thought. “What do we have here? I didn’t notice you till now.” Before Laiglas could recover from his shock, the big orc pulled him into the room. “Come into the light, my beauty. I want to look at you properly.” The orc leered at him and showed his sharp teeth. Laiglas’ heart raced, cold sweat ran down his spine. What should he do? What could he...

He suddenly realised that he could do nothing. He was trapped. He was at his mercy! The orc gripped his chin and kissed him roughly. Laiglas knew that he should keep still and endure it but his body didn’t obey him. When the other pushed his tongue into his mouth and grabbed between his legs, Laiglas lost all self-control.

He tried to push the orc away but he only gripped his arms. “Hold still”, the orc growled hand hardened his grip. Laiglas moaned, he felt as if his bones must break under the pressure. “Be a bit nicer to me, little slave and maybe I’ll be nice to you, too. Otherwise...” “Captain, let the slave go. Now!”

 

Melkor had noticed the disturbance at the corner of the room. Normally he let his men have their way, he took what he wanted himself after all, but this elf felt so very young. “What are you waiting for, Captain. Do you want to refuse obedience to me?”, he continued, when the orc didn’t react at first. It had become silent, all talk had stopped.

“Of course not, Your Majesty”, the orc growled and let go of the trembling slave. Melkor mustered him. He was still a child. “Come to me, slave.” The boy winced, but he walked over with bent head. Melkor could see him tremble. He knelt down beside his chair, Melkor lifted the elf’s chin. He had a delicate, pale face, his eyes were big, tears streaked his cheeks.

“How old are you, slave?”, he asked softly. “Twelve, Your Majesty.” Melkor smiled, no elf had ever called him that. “ _Herdir_ is quite enough.” More to himself than to the slave, he said: “You are already pretty, you’ll be beautiful in a few years. Have you already lain with a man?” The elf’s cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “No, herdir.”

Melkor pulled one of his rings from his finger and closed the slave’s hand around it. “Don’t lose it, it is worth more than it’s metal value. No one will dare to touch you when you wear my sign. What’s your name, slave?” “Laiglas, herdir.” “You are mine now, Laiglas, and I won’t forget you. I’ll call you in a few years and then I will have you. Go home now, you are not needed here any longer.” “Yes, herdir. Thank you, herdir.”

Laiglas looked for a moment as if he didn’t know what to make of it but then he stood up and ran as fast as he could. Melkor followed him with his gaze,  lost in thought. It had been a long time since he had wanted someone else than Mablung. But why should he take the trouble to search for a slave he liked and bend him to his will if he had one at home, who knew exactly what he liked.

It took him a moment to sense his slave’s gratitude. “He’s only a child. I’m not a monster, nethben”, he said softly and felt Mablung’s joyous feelings paint a smile on his face. The elf was something special, he already served him a long time, but Melkor had never grown weary of him. He didn’t want to be without him, especially now that he had almost lost him, he was aware of that.

Still, he would like to take this boy. Patience, he reminded himself. A lot of years would go by until he was grown up. Melkor caressed his slave’s head and emptied his glass. It was late and he wasn’t in celebratory mood anyway. Gondolin had fallen, but the price he had had to pay for it was much too high. “I’ll leave you now, my friends. Enjoy the evening.”

He let his gaze wander over them. If only he knew who had goaded Dirhaon into lying to him. It had to be one of his Maiar. Dirhaon himself wouldn’t get anything out of Sinthoras falling from grace. Someone must have promised him to promote him. Who of them wanted the place at his side...

Melkor’s gaze stopped at Artano. No, that couldn’t be, could it? Artano had always been loyal, although they hadn’t always agreed. ‘He almost killed your slave once’, a thought whispered in his head. He would keep an eye on him. Too bad that Dirhaon hadn’t talked, the man had even under torture claimed that it had been his idea.

Melkor walked home, the quiet pad of his slave’s naked feet a soothing sound. It was remarkable.  Although he had tortured him, it was as if nothing had happened. No fear, no hatred, not the smallest hesitation when he gave an order that promised him pain. Melkor smiled. It was good, that it was like this. He had something in mind today. Nothing too brutal, but painful. He hadn’t heard him moan for too long.

 

Mablung screamed when the cane bit into his shoulders again. His hands were chained above his head, he stood on tiptoe. His skin glowed, sweat bit into the welts. He didn’t bleed, not yet, but every blow felt like red-hot iron on his skin. This had to stop and soon, didn’t it? Suddenly he was frightened of it not stopping, of Melkor simply continuing on and on.

He had no cause for it, Melkor wasn’t angry, but now the memory of the night when he had tortured him was back, his arm hurt. Mablung trembled, the next blow let him lose his footing, he moaned when he fell into his bonds. No, he mustn’t lose himself. He gripped the chains and tried to get to his feet again, but he couldn’t. Every blow let him swing.

Mablung gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t show his Master how he felt at the moment, he mustn’t or he would stop before he wanted to. He would be a good slave, he wouldn’t ask for him to make allowances. He could take it. It wasn’t so bad.

 

Melkor felt his slave’s fear suddenly well up without any warning. He stopped unsure of what do to, he didn’t know what to make of it. Melkor caressed the hot skin between his slave’s shoulder blades. What had frightened him so? So suddenly? He couldn’t continue like this, it wasn’t fear he wanted.

“What’s wrong, nethben?” “Nothing, herdir, I’m fine.” His voice was hoarse and trembled. He seemed to be close to tears. Melkor huffed. “I can feel your fear, so don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?” “I don’t know, herdir. I was suddenly frightened, that you wouldn’t stop.” Mablung started to cry. Melkor shook his head and embraced him, the slave moaned when he touched the welts.

“I’ll always stop, nethben. What gives you that idea?” He kissed his ear. “I thought of how you...” Mablung sobbed. “How you tortured me, herdir. My arm hurts so much, herdir”, he whispered. Melkor looked up, the scar where the broken bone had ripped the skin showed clearly. He opened the chains and caught Mablung when he couldn’t stand alone.

“No, please, don’t stop.” Melkor stiffened. Did he really ask him to beat him further? “I want to be a good slave. Don’t stop because of me, if you don’t want to.” Melkor shook his head and carried him to the bed without another word. He didn’t understand Mablung sometimes. He was frightened because he thought he wouldn’t stop and at the same time he begged him to not make allowances.

Melkor was till aroused, maybe he would have ignored it for Mablung’s sake, but the slave would only become more upset if he did. He slid his hand down the slave’s sore back and kneaded his buttock. The slave whimpered but the fear was gone. Melkor took him slowly, with deep thrusts, savoured it to have him back.

Yes, he would always stop, he didn’t want to lose him. Melkor embraced him tightly. A deep sadness took hold of him as he realised how alone he now was. Sinthoras was dead. Sinthoras, who had always been with him. Sinthoras who had made the yearning for Manwe bearable. He had been his friend and now he was gone. Forever! He missed him so much.

 

Mablung feigned to be asleep but he was awake and heard his Master cry. He longed to soothe him but he had made this mistake once, he wouldn’t do it again. His arm hurt so much, as if it was broken again, that wasn't the case of course but it wouldn’t withstand a punishment. Still, he was worried. Melkor was lonely, Mablung felt the loneliness in his music. He knew that he missed Sinthoras.

Mablung longed to be able to fill the Maia's place but he couldn’t. He was only a slave, he didn’t mean enough to Melkor. And he wasn’t a match for him like Sinthoras had been. He wasn’t even allowed to embrace him. Mablung snuggled against his crying Master and tried to make it clear without words that he was here, that he would always be here as long as he wanted him at his side. Melkor embraced him so tightly that Mablungs breath caught and he feared he had noticed that he was awake, but he only cried into his hair.

‘I’m here, herdir.’ If only it would be any use to say it.


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

_549 F.A._

“Is a slave named Laiglas working here?” He looked up when he heard his name. Kaikos nodded and saw in his direction. “Come over, Laiglas. You are needed”, he called. “Immediately, herdir”, Laiglas answered and gave his blacksmith’s hammer to another. A letter was pushed into his hand by the soldier who had asked for him. He stared at the orc. “For me?”

“Of course for you!”, the orc answered annoyed. He nodded to Kaikos and left. Laiglas followed him with his eyes but then he opened the letter. Who would write him? He gasped when he saw the signature. Morgoth! He touched the ring that he never took off. Morgoth had been right, no one even dared to leer at him.

Everyone knew that he was the property of the king. Since the last year, since he was of age, and actually much longer, he had waited for him to summon him. He had almost dared to hope that he had forgotten him, he had a war to wage after all, but obviously he hadn’t. Laiglas licked his lips and read the short notice:

 

_Laiglas,_

_come tonight, an hour after you’ve finished your work, to the main entrance. Show this letter and my ring to the guards and they will bring you to me._

_Melkor_

His hands shook. Finally it happened. “Are you okay?” Laiglas laughed when he saw Kaikos’ gaze. He had to look alarming if the orc looked at him like that. “I’m fine, Master. I’ll go back to my work.” “Do that.” Laiglas nodded respectfully at him. ‘He really isn’t so bad’, he thought. ‘He is strict but not cruel. I never saw him beat someone who didn’t deserve it. Including me.’

He smiled wryly. His friends and he tested their boundaries all too often. A few days before they had gone too far and Kaikos had belted him so hard that he was still not comfortable sitting. But he had called for it and he knew what to expect from Kaikos. He didn’t know Morgoth.

 

When his father came home, Laiglas sat at the table and stared into space. He had eaten and washed. All he could do now, was wait until it was time to go. “Laiglas, what happened? Where are you with your thoughts?” He started when his father spoke. He hadn’t heard him come in. “Sorry, father. It’s only...” He wasn’t able to say it so he pointed to the letter that lay on the table. “Read.”

His father gasped. “Laiglas! I understand. You don’t need to be sorry.” His father pressed his hands. “Come, take off this old shirt, I think I have one that is a little less threadbare.” He began to rummage around in an old chest. Laiglas stared at him. “Atya, I don’t think he’ll care for what I wear. I won’t wear it for long.”

Tears came to his eyes, to say it made it real. “I’m so frightened, atya”, he sobbed. His father stood up and embraced him. “I know, Laiglas, I know.” He caressed his head soothingly. “I just thought you might feel better if you wear something else than this old rags.” “Thank you, atya. Maybe you are right.” He didn’t believe it but he felt that it was important for his father. He sniffled and wiped the tears from his cheeks. No, it was enough that he was so confused, his father shouldn’t worry.

 

Half an hour later Laiglas moved up to the guards at the door. He held out the ring and letter with bowed head. “I was told to show these”, his voice trembled, he almost jumped back when one of the orcs took the letter from his hand. “Well well, you are the slave the King wants tonight? Come with me, I’ll take you to him.”

Laiglas followed the orc up the steps into Angband, he had only once before been inside the fortress – most slaves that went in, didn’t come out again. After many torch-lighted hallways they halted in front of an intricately carved wooden door. “That’s it. Good luck.” The orc patted his shoulder not unfriendly and turned to go.

“Wait, Master. What should I do now?” Laiglas blushed when his question was answered with an uncomprehending look. “I mean: Should I knock or just go in?” The orc started to laugh. “You’re a rare one. No one has ever asked me this. I don’t know. Just go in, hm? He’s waiting for you after all and I doubt you’ll disturb him. Please him well, sweety, would be a shame if he’d kill you.”

Laiglas nodded and pushed the door handle down. His hands shook. He stood in a small antechamber, one of the doors that lead from it was off the latch. Laiglas saw light through it and pushed it open. He caught his breath when he saw Melkor. He sat on the bed, his back leaned against the headboard. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips.

Thick, dark hair framed his face and fell down to his hips. His bare, pale chest moved with his breath. He only wore loose ruby-coloured trousers. Lagilas swallowed, he hadn’t known how beautiful Melkor was. But what was more important now: What should he do? Was he asleep? Should he wake him?

“Herdir?”, he whispered almost soundless and again a little louder: “Herdir?” The smile on Melkor’s lips intensified and he opened his eyes. Laiglas lowered his gaze. “You really did come, I didn’t know if you would have the courage. I’m glad you did.” Laiglas shivered. Melkor’s voice left goose-bumps on his arms, it wasn’t a bad feeling. “Come closer.” He obeyed reluctantly and stopped when he was ordered.

“Undress, slowly.” Laiglas lifted his hands and tried to open his shirt, but his fingers didn’t obey him, the buttons slipped from his grasp again and again. Melkor sighed and stood up, he reached him with two steps. “Please, herdir, I...” Laiglas sobbed, he had been so busy with his shirt that he hadn’t noticed that he had started to cry. “Shh, I won’t hurt you.”

Melkor halted, he had meant to embrace him but he was sure that it would only frighten the boy more, so he just took his trembling hands in his own and caressed the skin with his thumb. He made a decision. He wouldn’t take Laiglas today as he had had intended. He wanted the boy to trust him first. Why he wanted his trust, he didn’t know.

“Are you afraid of me, Laiglas?”, he asked softly. “Yes, herdir.” Laiglas’ voice did a terrified somersault. “I understand. I know what you elves think of me. I won’t lead you on, I can be cruel, but if you obey me I won’t harm you – and you tried, I saw that. And now let me look at you.” He opened Laiglas’ shirt and pushed it down his arms, his trousers followed shortly.

Laiglas blushed violently and suppressed the urge to cover himself when Melkor moved back a step and examined him closely. Melkor smiled and stroked his chest. “Why are you blushing? You don’t need to be ashamed of your body, you are beautiful.” He lay down again and patted the mattress next to him. “Lie down.” His order was followed immediately this time.

The elf lay on his back, his muscles tense and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. Melkor rubbed his temples. Once he had savoured fear, he still did in certain circumstances, but he didn’t want fear from this boy. Melkor tousled his hair and started to explore him with his hand. He let his fingertips gently slide down Laiglas’ neck, over his arm to his belly and back up over his chest. He was so thin...

Melkor pushed something that felt like remorse away. Laiglas relaxed under his hands and when Melkor circled a nipple and squeezed it, he stifled a moan as if he didn’t want Melkor to hear it. Melkor laughed. “It isn’t that bad, is it?” “No, herdir.” “You think: ‘Not yet.’ Am I right?” Laiglas blushed. “Yes, herdir. I...”

Melkor laid a finger on his lips. “I won’t take you tonight and neither the next time I order you here. And then... we’ll see.” “Why, herdir?” Laiglas looked confused. “I don’t want you to fear me.” It overwhelmed Mablung when he was kind to him. His slave thought that every kindness had a price and was more insecure if he was gentle than when he beat him.

Laiglas didn’t know him, Laiglas would maybe lose his fear if he was kind. He felt a twinge of conscience as he thought of Mablung, he felt as if he cheated on him. The hurt in the elf’s eyes when he told him that he didn’t want him here tonight... Nonsense, Mablung was his slave, it did not concern him if his Master had another slave.

It shouldn’t matter to him what is slave thought or felt. But it did. Laiglas was here, too, to prove to himself that he wasn’t attached to his slave, but he wouldn’t let him feel that. The boy had done nothing to anger him, he wouldn’t let him suffer.

 

Laiglas sighed comfortably and pulled the blanked that had slipped from his shoulder up to his nose. It was so warm! He was often cold in the morning, he had only an thin, worn blanket, nothing by comparison to this soft feather-bed. He didn’t want to open his eyes and be awake. It was so cosy. But Kaikos wouldn’t be excited if he were late. What time was it anyway?

He opened his eyes reluctantly and started up. It was light! Damn, Kaikos would... But he could think about that later. He needed to go. Laiglas bounced out of bed and looked around for his clothes. “What are you doing?” A suppressed laugh resonated in Melkor’s voice. He sat on a table full of food. “Come, sit down with me and eat something.” Melkor motioned to the empty chair across from him.

“I have to go, herdir. I’m sorry, but I’m in trouble. I’ll be much too late as it is.” Laiglas had found his clothes and dressed hurriedly. He blushed when his belly protested audibly. Melkor laughed. “Don’t worry. Your overseer knows that you are here, he doesn’t expect you, I saw to it. And now sit down.” Laiglas followed the order relieved and very read to comply. He stared at the food, he didn’t know half of it and the rest only from his father’s tales.

“I didn’t know what you would like, so I ordered a bit of everything.” Laiglas looked away embarrassed. He had done this for him and not even taken what he had wanted from him. “Well, herdir, I don’t know either. I don’t know most of these things.” Melkor looked blankly at him. “I was born in Angband, herdir. I don’t know how it is out there. I recognize most of the fruits because my father drew them for me when I was small but I don’t know how they taste.”

Melkor banished every emotion from his face. He felt terrible. He did understand why they hated him. “Mablung likes sunflower bread best, with as much seeds as possible  and strawberry preserves. That’s this.” He pointed to a glass with red content. “Or honey.” “That’s the golden stuff, isn’t it. Father loved it.” Melkor smiled. “Yes, it is. I like cheese and cold meat, personally. Just try whatever you want.”

Laiglas nodded slowly. He couldn’t believe that he sat here with Morgoth and talked about breakfast preferences! He bit his tongue. He shouldn’t even talk unasked, his father had drilled that into him, but Morgoth... no, Melkor, he wasn’t at all like he had imagined Morgoth, didn’t seem to be bothered about it. Was he really allowed to eat all this? And what should he try first?

Laiglas took a slice of soft fresh bread and opened the honey. It smelled sweet, his mouth was watering. For a time he was completely busy eating. At last, he leaned back and noticed that Melkor watched him with a smile. Laiglas felt himself blush again. “I’ve never eaten so much and so many different things in my life, herdir. It tasted wonderful, thank you.”

“Are you finished?” He thought to hear a laugh in Melkor’s voice. “Stuffed. I haven’t eaten this much in a week.” He closed his eyes with relish. Melkor smiled to himself. He was glad that the elf was so relaxed in his presence and wondered if he could risk to kiss him. Melkor bowed over the table and licked the honey from his lips.

Laiglas tensed, he hadn’t reckoned with this. His heart began to race. Melkor pulled back when he felt Laiglas’ fear rise. ‘It was too early.’ He caressed his cheek gently and said: “You should go home now, your father is surely worried.” “Yes, herdir.” Laiglas stood up. “Goodbye, herdir.” “I’ll see you soon, Laiglas.” Melkor sighed. What had he started here...

 

~*~*~

 

Laiglas rubbed his moist hands against his trousers. He stood in front of Melkor’s door and couldn’t bring himself to enter. Melkor didn’t expect him, not yet, he had intentionally hurried to not have so much time to think. He wanted to tell Melkor today that he was ready, that he didn’t need to be easy on him anymore.

Melkor was always so kind, he touched him, he kissed him, but he hadn’t taken him yet, and he hadn’t kissed him on the mouth again since their first breakfast. He never hurt him but still Laiglas trembled with fear. He bit his lip undecidedly. His friends said that it hurt awfully and he knew that Melkor beat Mablung. The older elf had taken him aside after one of his stays with Melkor and asked him if he was well.

Laiglas didn’t understand why Melkor was so kind to him. Would Melkor hurt him too, if he saw that he was ready? Laiglas shook his head to get all this useless thoughts out, he would take things as they came. He opened the door determinedly and stepped in. He undressed in the small antechamber and laid his clothes on a chair. By now he knew that Melkor wanted him naked when he came into his bed room. He delayed the inevitable a little longer by folding his clothes carefully. When he noticed that he was stalling again he shook his head, pushed a strand of hair behind his ear and walked into the sleeping room.

 

Melkor spun around when he heard the door. “Stay here”, he told his slave and left the dungeon where Mablung always waited while Melkor was with Laiglas. The boy shouldn’t see the room, it would only frighten him. “You are early”, he said brusquely to cover his embarrassment. Laiglas winced, he hadn’t anticipated such a reaction. “I thought you might be pleased”, he said. “Forgive me, if I erred, herdir.”

Melkor had overcome his surprise meanwhile. He stepped to the trembling elf and caressed his shoulders and arms. He could feel his fear again today. “Of course I’m pleased, you just startled me”, he said and kissed his forehead. “What’s wrong, Laiglas?” He hadn’t been so tense since their first night together. “Did I frighten you?” “No, herdir. It’s only...” Laiglas took a deep breath. “It’s just that you said, you want me to get used to you. I’m ready, I trust you.” He added in a whisper: “But I’m frightened anyway. I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t need to do anything tonight.” Melkor embraced him gently. “Let me guide you and just feel. I will be gentle, I promise.” Melkor kissed Laiglas on the mouth and rubbed his back. He needed to be careful, he didn’t want to hurt Laiglas. He wanted to give him a first time he would never forget. Regardless of how bad it would maybe get for him with others, he should remember his first time as something nice.

He kissed his closed eyes, his cheeks, his mouth, his fingers played with Laiglas’ nipples until they hardened. Laiglas’ breath quickened, he moved into his touch. Melkor smiled, he would take his fear away. It was new for him too, to be careful, to not take him too fast and hurt him with it. He would need all his self-command.

While he closed his lips around one nipple he fondled Laiglas’ crotch, the boy moaned. He pulled him slowly to the bed and made him lie down. “Put your legs on my shoulders”, he whispered and reached for the oil. He stroked Laiglas’ thighs and felt how tense he was. “Try to relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” He wrapped his hand around Laiglas’ cock when he rubbed his entrance with an oily finger. He studied him closely, he didn’t trust that the slave would dare to tell him if he hurt him.

 

Laiglas moaned softly. Melkor’s fingers moved slowly in and out. It didn’t really hurt but it wasn’t comfortable either. He couldn’t imagine how Melkor’s cock should fit in. He cried out when Melkor touched something inside him and pleasure shot through his body. Melkor laughed and continued to prepare him. His lips ghosted over Laiglas’ neck, that felt nice. And after a while the fingers didn’t seem so unfamiliar anymore.

Now and then he stopped and just caressed him, he took so much time. Laiglas’ fear vanished, it was so different from what he had imagined. He was a slave, the masters didn’t care what a slave felt – except that Melkor did. He cared for him. How had he earned this? He wasn’t special, he wasn’t even very pretty! Melkor treated him like a lover, not that he had much experience with that, but...

Melkor let more oil run on his hand and wrapped his hand around his arousal. He closed his eyes, he was ready, so ready, but he mustn’t rush it or all his patience until now would have been in vain. Laiglas grimaced when he entered him slowly. “You need to relax”, Melkor croaked and kissed him. He reached between them and wrapped his hand again around Laiglas’ cock. The elf moved towards him involuntarily and hissed in pain when Melkor sunk deeper into him with the motion.

“It hurts”, he groaned. Melkor stopped moving and moaned softly. He longed to continue but he mustn’t lose his self-control. Melkor kissed Laiglas cheek, let his lips wander down, bit his skin lightly and pulled on a nipple with his teeth, his hand stroked Laiglas, always cautious to not let him come too fast. He felt how Laiglas started to lose himself in the touch and thrust. 'Not too fast', he told himself, 'take your time'

It still hurt but Laiglas almost didn’t care. The pain mixed with the pleasure that Melkor gave him and turned to something... different. He reached out, he wanted to touch him, wanted to pull him closer. His fingers threaded in Melkor’s hair, he pulled his head down and kissed him. Laiglas tried to move with him, he could smell him, his sweat, his pleasure and when he looked into his face he couldn’t believe that they called him Morgoth.

Was this truly the Vala that had brought so much evil to the world? Laiglas had never thought about it. Melkor was just... Melkor for him. He was a ruler and he was his Master, he had always been a kind Master to him and although he knew that he could be different, he couldn’t fear him. Laiglas clung to him when he came.

Melkor felt Laiglas’ muscles clench around him and let go of the last of his self-control. He came with a soft sound and kissed Laiglas’ neck before he laid down beside him and wrapped his arms around him. Laiglas snuggled up to him and whispered his name. So softly that he could have believed to have misheard, but he hadn’t.

It had been so long since someone had dared to call him by his name, and surely not an elf. How had it come to this? How could he have allowed a slave to become so unafraid of him that he didn’t shy away from saying his name? He looked into Laiglas’ face that was completely relaxed, he could feel that the boy was already sleeping. He wouldn’t wake and punish him, he didn’t want to punish him. He had been half asleep when he had said his name, it meant nothing.

 

Laiglas woke when the sun shone into his face. It was seldom that the sun broke through the clouds above Angband and he just relished the feeling of the warmth on his skin for a while. “Are you awake, Laiglas?” He opened his eyes and looked at Melkor. “I’m awake, herdir.” Melkor smiled and kissed his nose. “How do you feel?” Laiglas moved gingerly. He was sore.

It had hurt, for a time he had thought he couldn’t take it, but Melkor had been so gentle. It had been nice – somehow. “I’m fine, herdir. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” “You will get used to it, it gets easier. I drew a bath, can you walk?” Laiglas smiled. “I think so, I’m not that fragile.” He stood up and grimaced when his sore parts protested.

He sighed blissfully when he stepped into the water. Melkor’s tub was a large square in the floor, it looked more like a small lake. Melkor sat down and pulled him close. “Did... did you like it, herdir?” Laiglas hid his red face on Melkor’s shoulder. He was embarrassed, but he needed to know if he had done everything right.

 

Mablung winced when he heard Laiglas speak. What did the boy think? Did he want to earn himself a punishment? Tensely he waited for his Master’s reaction. He was astonished when he answered: “I liked it.” He laughed – his Master laughed! “You wouldn’t be here if it were different. Don’t worry about your inexperience, you will learn.”

Mablung swallowed, when had his Master talked to him like that? Even when he was gentle with him, he never let it go when he spoke without permission and at the moment he was seldom gentle anyway. The Valar had crossed the sea, war was raging and Melkor’s wrath burned hot. “Come over, slave.” His Master had noticed him, he had ordered him here, Mablung hadn’t know that Laiglas was still with him.

He knelt beside his Master and waited. His Master stroked his hair und rubbed his neck. Mablung closed his eyes, enjoyed the tenderness. He knew that he would have to pay for it in a few moments but he treasured the touch. “Laiglas has had an exhausting night, indulge him.” Mablung flinched and cried out when Melkor grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked. “You won’t pull away from my touch, slave. I thought I’d taught you that!”

Mablung trembled, this order... He couldn’t mean it! He had to have heard wrongly. “You did understand me right, slave.” His voice had a dangerous tone, he mustn’t defy him. He slid into the water and moved to Laiglas. The boy stared at him uncomprehending, only when he started to caress him realisation dawned on him.

Mablung gulped, he knew what it meant that he was the one pleasing Laiglas and not the other way round, why Melkor was so kind to Laiglas. He was being replaced, it was only a matter of time now. Melkor had become tired of him and turned to Laiglas. What would become of him if Melkor sent him away? He kissed  Laiglas and wrapped his hand around his growing arousal, he was young, it didn’t take much.

Maybe he should have been jealous, but he knew that it wasn’t Laiglas’ fault. Melkor had picked him out. He would do this well, maybe his Master would keep him a while longer if he did it well.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

_587 F.A._

Mablung lay in the dungeon and stared at the small light the candle made. He concentrated on it to not see the darkness all around him. The memory of Sauron waited in the darkness. Did his Master know what he did to him by locking him up here when Laiglas was with him? Did he even care?

The welts on his back burned when he moved, many of them were bloody. His Master was often angry now and although Mablung knew that the anger wasn’t his fault it still turned on him. The war went badly, the Valar came and Mablung didn’t know what to wish for. He almost hated the Valar because they made his Master so angry.

Mablung shook his head. What was he thinking? Was he really so long a slave that he couldn’t think clearly anymore? He loved his Master but he knew that it would be better if he were locked up again. At least, his Master didn’t hurt Laiglas, that was Mablung’s only comfort. The flame danced in a draught. How similar Melkor was to this element. It warmed but if you came too close it burned you.

Mablung’s eyes filled with tears, it had been so good for a time and now it was over, he should have known that it couldn’t last, that Melkor would get tired of him and now that he had Laiglas it was only a matter of time until he sent him away. He was surprised that he was still here. But maybe that was his fate. To have to bear the pain that Melkor didn’t want to burden Laiglas with.

It would be mercy if it were so. Sauron would take his revenge with pleasure if he no longer belonged to Melkor. Sinthoras was dead and Mablung wasn’t sure if Mo would help him. He saw his worried glances now and then when Melkor took him to the throne room, but Mo wasn’t Sinthoras, he didn’t dare to speak out. Mablung gave a start when Melkor forced his entrance into his head. ‘Come over and hurry.’

Mablung took the candle and stood up stiffly. His muscles were sore and cramped. He fell to his knees as soon as he entered Melkor’s bed room. “I’m here, herdir.” “It’s about time.” Mablung winced at the harsh words. He had hurried but Melkor found always fault with him these days. He felt his Master’s anger burn.

Laiglas had been here or he wouldn’t have sent him to the dungeon tonight. After that he needed someone to blow off steam on and that was usually him. He whimpered when the crop slapped hard on his sore backside. Was he really asking too much if he longed for a little gentleness from his master? But he was a slave, he mustn’t wish anything. Melkor did what he wanted, he should be glad that he still could give him pleasure.

Mablung closed his eyes when his tears welled up. It was so hard to bear after he had treated him almost like a lover all these years. But he knew it, a slave shouldn’t hope! And he didn’t deserve happiness anyway. He was a murderer. Melkor had only been kind to him as long as he wanted to. He was only still with him because it was convenient for Melkor to have him here. Melkor would never love him.

 

Laiglas turned around on his way home. He had forgotten to ask Melkor to give him leave tomorrow, he wanted to meet with his friends. It had been unexpected that Melkor had sent him home. He usually noticed it before, if Melkor didn’t want him to stay the whole night. The Vala always emanated such a coldness then, as if he had to hold back his wrath.

Laiglas entered Melkor’s rooms and wanted to announce his presence when he heard the scream. He knew now why he had sent him away. He ran into the bed room and stopped as if rooted to the spot, horrified by what he saw. Melkor was relentlessly beating Mablung. Mablung who looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes, his gaze so hopeless that it brought tears to his eyes, too.

“Please, herdir, stop. Don’t you see that you hurt him?”, he whispered. ‘Blockhead, that’s exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t beat him’, he berated himself. But somehow he felt that that wasn’t true. He thought that Melkor didn’t know how much he truly hurt Mablung. Was it all the same to him? He couldn’t believe that.

 

Melkor stared at the trembling, bloody body before him. “Don’t you see that you hurt him?” Laiglas’ words resonated in his head. He had promised Mablung that it would never again be like this! What did he do here? But he mustn’t show his weakness. “Get lost, ere I change my mind!”, he growled at the boy. Laiglas looked at him wide-eyed and ran away.

“Lie down!” Mablung hurried to obey his harsh words. He couldn’t hear him - again. The Music slipped away from him so often that he was deaf most of the time. Melkor cast himself down next to the slave and turned his back to him. He didn’t want to look into his tearstained face, he was so ashamed.

He tried to persuade himself that it was Mablung’s fault. If Mablung were able to bear more pain... Maybe Artano had been right after all, he shouldn’t have treated the slave so gentle. But a soft, emphatic voice in his head whispered that that wasn’t true, that he was angry of himself because he knew that he had done wrong. He liked Mablung, maybe more than that.

‘Stop!’ Melkor shook his head desperately, his temples throbbed, as if a fight raged in his head. That’s just what he needed now! He needed to have his head on straight, soon his brothers would stand at Angband’s gates, he couldn’t afford to think about his slave. He longed to embrace Mablung but somehow it didn’t feel right, he didn’t even know if Mablung would want it. Not that he had ever cared about that.

Melkor curled up and sobbed. The loneliness that had waited on the edge of his consciousness, like a wild animal waited for the best moment to jump, was back. It tore his soul and left only bloody shards. Sinthoras was dead and Mablung must hate him. If he won the war or not, he had lost.

 

_It was black around Mablung, so dark that he thought at first that he had gone blind. Where was he? Fear crawled up his spine. He shrank back startled when hand touched his body. “So jumpy”, a well known voice mocked. “No, please!” Mablung wanted to pull away but the hands held him tight._

_Sauron laughed cruelly. “You can’t get away, slave, you are mine.” He dug his fingers in the bloody welts on his back. Mablung’s eyes filled with tears. It hurt so much, but the fear was worse. “No, herdir, please stop. Let me go. Please!” But Sauron only gripped him tighter._

 

Melkor woke when Mablung started to writhe in his arms. He seemed to have succumbed to his wish in his sleep. He pulled the elf tighter but Mablung just struggled more. “Let me go, herdir, please stop”, he sobbed. Melkor shrank back startled. Mablung had never fought against his touch. Something inside of him broke. He was a monster.

Mablung wrenched his eyes open with racing heart. He didn’t know at first where he was, but then he heard Melkor’s music. It was only a dream, just another nightmare. Then he noticed how Melkor looked at him. Had he talked in his sleep? Had he struggled? It mustn’t be, his Master would be mad. Before he could think about it, Melkor stood up.

“Where are you going, herdir?”, he asked, too surprised to stop himself. “I... I have work to do”, his Master said absentmindedly and put on a robe. Mablungs heart clenched. He was lying to him, he could feel it, usually he was a better liar and he sounded so very sad. What was the matter with him?

“No, herdir, please, stay!” Mablung struggled to his feet as fast as his sore limbs would let him and fell to his knees. He didn’t want to be alone, Sauron would come back then. “Please, it isn’t as you think!” “It is exactly as I think.” Melkor’s eyes shone. “You are obviously frightened of me, I don’t want to oppress you any longer.”

Mablung stared at his Master. When had he started to care if he was frightened? When had he ever asked him his opinion? And what was that strange undertone in his voice? If he didn’t know better, he would say Melkor was fighting tears. “Don’t lie to me, Mablung.” “I’m not lying! I would never dare to lie to you, herdir. It is because of S... Artano, I dreamt of him.” Mablung sobbed. “I’m so frightened, herdir.”

“Of Artano? But why?” Mablung was completely amazed when Melkor lifted him up and sat with him on the bed. “It’s because you have Laiglas now. And I... I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore.” Mablung cried now without restraint, all the fear and pain that had piled up in him broke out.

Melkor looked puzzled. “But why? Why shouldn’t I want you?” “I thought you had grown tired of me. I was so frightened that you would give me to Sauron.” Melkor embraced his crying slave. He felt as if someone had thrust a dagger into his heart. “I would never do this, Mablung. Do you hear me. Never!”

He had been a monster, small wonder Mablung felt like this. He had given all his kindness to Laiglas, he only now realised how this must seem to Mablung. He was so stupid. “Hush, it’s alright. Don’t be frightened, I’ll don’t send you away. And I won’t treat you so cruelly again, I promise. I know, I said this before but I’ll keep it this time, for sure.”

Melkor petted the elf’s head and tried to calm him with gentle words but Mablung couldn’t stop crying. Melkor didn’t know what to do, he needed help. And he knew where to find it. “I’ll be back immediately, Mablung”, he said to the elf.

“Don’t leave me, herdir.” Mablung sounded pitiful. Melkor looked at him gently. That his slave, after all he had done to him, still trusted him enough to turn to him for comfort and shelter... ‘How much I...’ “I won’t be long, I promise.” Mablung nodded and curled up sobbing.

 

Melkor rushed through Angband’s silent hallways. He was glad that there weren’t many people around at this time, it wasn’t very kingly to run like this. It wasn’t far to Mo. The Maia opened the door sleepily. “Aranya, do you know how late it is?” He looked more awake when he noticed his anxiety. “What happened? Are they here?”

“No, it’s not because of the war. Can I come in?” Mo opened his door further. “Of course. What’s it about then, aranya?” Mo rubbed his eyes. “Wine?” “What? No, I... I need your help, please. Mablung is not well, he doesn’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do.” Mo turned around with a panicked look. “Is he hurt badly?”

Melkor shook his head. He knew exactly what Mo thought. Of course. He had taken care of Mablung after... “No, I mean... I beat him but that isn’t why he cries. He...” He wrung his hands. “He is sad.” He didn’t want to go into detail. It was embarrassing enough that he asked him for help. “I wasn’t very nice to him lately and he had a nightmare.”

Mo sighed and sat down in the chair opposite of him. “He dreamt of Sauron, didn’t he?” “Artano, Mo, but yes, he did.” Melkor shook his head. “I should never have lent him to him. But... that’s not important now, Mo. I have to go back to him, he almost begged me not to leave him. Can you help me?”

“I think so, aranya.” Mo stood up and walked to the next room. He came back with a steaming mug. “Hot milk with honey, I get good results with this.” Mo gave him the mug, his hands closed around Melkor’s. “You care for him very much, don’t you?”, he asked softly. “Yes”, Melkor answered before he realised what he acknowledged there.

"I mean...”, he started to deny it but Mo looked at him so knowingly that he couldn’t. He sighed. “Is it so obvious?” “Well, I doubt that you would run through Angband in the middle of the night because he cries, if he didn’t mean something to you.” “You might be right.” Melkor closed his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I don’t think there’s anything _wrong_ with you, aranya. Might it be that you simply don’t want to know what it is you are feeling?” Mo caressed his cheek. “He served you for so long, aranya. He... he is doing everything for you. Do you think he deserves to die in this war?” “I have to go.” It was almost an escape.

 

“Drink.” Melkor held the mug of hot milk under the still sobbing elf’s nose and sat down next to him. “Thank you, herdir.” Mablung rested his head on Melkor’s shoulder. “Never mind.” Melkor laid his arm around his shoulders. “My mother always made milk with honey for me when I couldn’t sleep”, Mablung whispered after a while, his tears had dried and he was dosing off.

“Do you miss them, your family?” “Yes, very much. Don’t you?” Mablung snuggled up to him. “But my home is with you now, herdir”, he murmured and closed his eyes. Soon he was sleeping. “I do”, Melkor answered belatedly. The dagger in his heart was turned.

Hours later Melkor still was awake and watched the sun rising. He couldn’t get Mo’s words out of his head. ‘No, he doesn’t deserve to die.’ Melkor knew how unbearable he had been, when he had last fought the Valar and then he had had Sinthoras. ‘He almost couldn’t bear it.’ The war would mean Mablung’s death. ‘I don’t want to hurt Mablung anymore. I love him.’

He wasn’t surprised about this sudden admission, somehow he had known it for a long time. Melkor sighed. ‘When Manwe cast me out, I vowed to myself to never love again. And now? He won’t ever love me back, he should be free at least.’ The notion to lose Mablung, cut into his soul. He had been with him when the Silmaril had been stolen and the night when he had heard about Sinthoras’ death.

He had also spent these wonderful days in the mountains with him. Regardless of what happened, he had always been sure that his slave would wait at home. Mablung had never let him feel his hatred. He had touched his heart. And he realised something else.

‘Mablung means more to me than all the power in the world.’ When Mablung was gone, he had nothing to fight for. How could it be that Angband, his kingship, meant nothing to him without the elf? But his power had crumbled away, he was only a shadow of himself, he couldn’t even leave this body. There was nothing here for him without Mablung.

He took a shuddering breath. He remembered his first imprisonment all too well. He didn’t want to go back to Mandos, but it was what he had to do. Even when he set Mablung free he was still in peril of being caught again. What if he didn’t hear about it? What if one of the orcs killed him? He would stop all this, he would surrender. Melkor rose quietly, sat down at his desk and wrote a letter.

 

His Master sat in his chair in front of the fireplace and stared at the ash when Mablung woke. Mablung licked his lips and smiled when he tasted the honey. Last night was one of the memories he would treasure. He rose and knelt beside his Master. Melkor lifted his chin with his finger and looked at him with so much sadness and tenderness that Mablung felt tears in his eyes.

“If you could have a wish granted to you what would you wish for?” Mablung stared at his Master. Since when did he ask for his wishes? What would he wish for? His freedom? That he could see his family again? ‘I would wish that I could tell you that I love you; that you love me too; and that we can be together forever.’

But that were three wishes – and he couldn’t tell his Master, so he answered: “If you would grant me a wish, I would ask for my freedom, the...” He suddenly remembered that his Master had forbidden him to talk of the Valar but he continued anyway: “The Valar I would ask to let me go home.” He lowered his head and waited for Melkor’s answer.

His Master sighed and petted his head, then he kissed his forehead. Something clicked. “I’m granting your wish. You are free, Mablung.” When his Master pulled back his hands and the weight was taken from his neck, Mablung realised what had clicked. The lock of the collar that he had worn for so long!

“Herdir!”, he whispered dismayed. “Don’t call me that, Mablung, you are no longer my slave.” Mablung watched shocked how his Master relieved him of the shackles around his wrists and ankles. “Stand up, there’s no reason for you to kneel anymore. Aren’t you happy?” “I don’t know what to say, herdir. I...”

Mablung burst into tears and flung his arms around his Master’s neck. He couldn’t believe it. He was free! Just like that! He was happy and at the same time it hurt so much. He didn’t want to be parted from him. He loved him! His Master rubbed his back soothingly. “Hush, hush. Everything will be alright for you”, he murmured.

“Thank you, herdir. I just don’t understand why.” Mablung sobbed. “Don’t you want me anymore?” Melkor shook his head. “I will always want you. You are the only slave who ever meant anything to me. That’s why I’m letting you go. You served me long enough, and faithfully. Obedience will be rewarded, do you remember?”

‘If you love something, you have to let it go’, he added in his mind. ‘And if it doesn’t come back, you never owned it... He won’t have the opportunity to come back.’ “I have to go now. On your... on the mattress lie clothes for you. You can keep the collar and shackles. It’s mithril, if you sell it, you can make a new beginning with the money. I think you know one of the tunnels out?”

Mablung nodded stunned. “Here.” Melkor squeezed a slip of paper into his hand. “This is a pass, the guards will let you go if you show them.” Melkor pushed him away and stood up. Mablung didn’t know what to think, is feelings were confused. Before his Master left, he added: “There’s also a letter. Please open it only when you are two days away from Angband.”

 

Melkor sank to the floor when he was out of the door, his legs wouldn’t carry him further. He hid his face in his hands and let his tears run freely. ‘I love you.’ The words had been in his head the whole time but he couldn’t say them. How could he? The elf had been his slave, he had raped and tortured him. How could he speak of love? No, he didn’t want to see his hatred, it was better to not tell him.

He would be so lonely tonight, and tomorrow he would surrender to the Valar. ‘How shall I live without you? I’m so frightened.’ Mablung would soon forget him – he hoped that he could forget him, but it hurt so much. ‘Why do you hate me so much?’, he asked his father. ‘Why did you create me, if you hate me so much?’

 

Mablung didn't know how long he stared at the chair, where his Master had sat, with empty eyes. He felt strange without the shackles. What should he do now? A part of him wanted to run after Melkor and confess his love, to beg him to be allowed to stay with him, another part berated him for it.

‘You were only his plaything. Maybe he does like you but he will never love you. Do you want to throw away your freedom for an unrequited love?’ “No”, Mablung whispered. He dressed and lifted the bow and quiver that had lain on top of the clothes. Then he left the place that had been his home for five hundred years – left the person he loved more than his life. He was going to rue it bitterly.

 

When Melkor came home late at night after a council of war that didn’t interest him anymore, Mablung was gone. No fire burned in the fireplace, no little slave waited with a smile and a gentle embrace. Melkor swallowed hard, he felt so lost. All this did mean nothing without Mablung.

When had his power, his realm, started to mean so little to him? He didn’t know, he couldn’t say when he had started to love Mablung. His gaze fell on something glittering. A golden flower on a fine chain lay in front of the fireplace. When he lifted it up, he saw that the chain was broken.

Melkor sobbed hoarsely, his tears rand down his cheeks. The pain tore him from inside. He longed for Mablung, he wanted him at his side, but he hadn’t been able to hold him any longer against his will. He curled up on the bed and cried for his lost love, Mablung’s necklace clutched to his chest.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

It was still dark when Melkor left. He didn’t take the route through the main gate but used one of the tunnels. He could have ridden, but he walked, he had sent Mórhuin away, he hoped he would find Mablung. His Maiar would miss him soon, they were scheduled to meet two hours after sunrise to talk about the coming battle. Melkor walked faster.

He intended to have surrendered by then. His heart hurt, he was so lonely. Mablung was gone, he would never see him again, his brothers wouldn’t allow him to be a threat to anyone ever again. His lips trembled. He was so frightened, but he wouldn’t back down now. His hand wandered to the small pouch on his belt.

Even through the leather he could feel the heat of the Silmaril, he had forfeited his claim on them for all time – if he had ever had one. But they weren’t the only things in there, he had put Mablung’s necklace there too, it wouldn’t get lost this way, when they took him captive.

The guards he met on his way out looked surprised but they didn’t dare to speak to him. Still, if his generals came searching, they would soon know where he had vanished to. Melkor started to run. He feared that they would overtake him and he wouldn’t have the strength to refuse them.

It was so hard to acknowledge that he had lost his way. He hadn’t wanted to be a tyrant – not at first. A ruler, yes, but first and foremost his own master. His wrath had made him an enemy, his hate for the elves for whose sake his siblings had come to fight him – and did it again. And now it had been an elf who had touched his heart. Mablung had given so much to him and he had always just taken. He wished he could make it up to him but it was too late. How could Mablung ever forgive him?

 

The sun shone into his face when he came to the surface again. Had they already noiced that he was gone? He hadn’t been able to tell anyone, couldn’t have borne it if they had tried to hold him back. But he hadn’t been able to open Angband’s gates either. He wouldn’t make a desicion for them all, although he was aware that they stood no chance against the Valar without him.

Even with him, the possibility of winning had been small. He hadn’t been able to withstand his brothers when they had come for him the first time, and in his current, weakened state it would be a simple thing for them to subdue him. Fingolfin had almost beaten him, and that had been years ago.

He heard the sounds of an army in front of him, though his view was still blocked by a hill. He would soon find out how good their guards were and if they shot first and asked questions later. He was unarmed, he didn’t need a weapon. Melkor jumped when an arrow flew past his ear – warning shot. He stopped.

“Who are you? Announce yourself or the next arrow finds its mark.” The voice spoke Quenya in a way he hadn’t heard in almost six hundred years, a Vanya. The elf showed himself on the hill, his bow raised. “I’m Melkor, I’m here to surrender to the Valar.” Silence. Melkor waited, he wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t shoot him anyway.

The elf turned around, but did keep an eye on him and talked to someone on the other side of the hill. A moment later, another elf walked up to the first guard, both of them watched him warily. The elf that had talked to him held his bow at the ready while the other one came to him, he carried a rope.

“Give me your hands, traitor.” Everything in Melkor rebelled against being talked to like that, he still was a Vala, but he obeyed. He wouldn’t give them any more cause to torment him, than they already had. The elf bound his hands tight, then pulled on the rope to prompt Melkor to follow him. Melkor gritted his teeth when the rope bit into his skin.

They led him over the hill and soon reached the first tents. Elves and Maiar stood in front of them and watched them walking by, their eyes were full of hate, sometimes he heard insults aimed at him. It seemed like a third guard had announced his coming. He lowered his head, he was frightened to see Mablung in the crowd, he didn’t want to see the hatred in his eyes.

Finally, they came to a circle of stately pavilions, the elf who walked behind him pushed him forward and Melkor stumbled to his knees. The mud that was everywhere an army went, seeped through his trousers. Melkor didn’t look up and although he was almost deaf at the moment  he knew, who had come out of the tents.

“You did well, go now back to your posts, you shouldn’t leave your comrades for too long.” Manwe’s voice, Melkor would have recognised it anywhere. The elves left and he remained alone in the presence of the Valar. “So you surrender?” Manwes gentle voice now dripped with contempt. “Your remorse comes a bit late, don’t you think? Or did you realise that you can’t win and hope to receive clemency if you surrender? Do you think us so stupid? Do you really think we’ll fall again for your lies?”

“No... no, I don’t expect you to. I... that’s not what I...” He gasped with pain when someone kicked him in the ribs. He barely managed to brace himself on his bound hands to not end up with his face in the mud. “You will address the king with due respect, traitor!” Eonwe, of course, he was unconditionally loyal to Manwe.

He had wanted to tell them, why he had surrendered, that he meant it this time, but now he realised that they wouldn’t believe him, that they wouldn’t even listen to him, so he kept silent and concentrated on breathing. “Where are the Silmaril?” Aule, of course he asked that. “In my belt pouch, herdir”, he answered and hoped it to be respectful enough for Eonwe. The Maia cut the strings of the pouch and gave it to Manwe.

“Will the other traitors surrender, too?” “I don’t know, herdir. I didn’t tell them, where I went.” For a long time no one said anything, Melkor knelt before them with bent head and waited for them to finish arguing. He couldn’t hear them, but he knew that they did. The rope around his hands tautened and he stood up, his hand were numb. He risked a look. Aule and Tulkas marched him off.

Melkor’s chest tightened. Tulkas had never liked him and Aule had more cause to hate him than most. He had seduced Artano and Mo away from him, and others too. But it was understandable why they had chosen them. Tulkas to keep him in check, Aule because he had the key for Angainor. A cold shiver ran down his spine. This time they would chain him forever. He would be a prisoner until the world ended.

They led him to another tent, one of Aule’s possibly. Aule nicked his skin when he cut the rope, Melkor wasn’t sure if it had been on purpose, but he didn’t seem sorry. Tulkas gripped his arms so he wouldn’t be tempted to run. “Undress”, Aule barked. “What?” Melkor hoped he had misheard. He couldn’t mean that!

Aule slapped his face as hard as he could. Melkor’s head jerked to the side, his eyes filled with tears, he couldn’t stop them. He gasped for air, blood ran from his nose and filled his mouth where he had bitten his cheek. “Hurry, or do you want me to do it for you?”, Tulkas growled. Melkor shook his head, a mistake, he realised when the tent began to spin around him. His fingers shook when he undressed.

Tulkas only let go of him so he could push the shirt off his shoulders, then his hands closed again like vices around his arms. Melkor knew it would bruise and his cheek felt hot and swollen, his eye was closing, but it didn’t matter. He saw Mablung’s bloody back in his mind’s eye, the elf would bear the scars for all his life. Not that Melkor expected his punishment to be over with a few slaps to the face.

His arms were roughly pulled on his back, chain links clinked, two locks clicked and his wrists were bound in cold metal. His feet followed and Tulkas let go of him, he couldn’t run away anymore. Aule walked around him and yanked at his hair, Melkor jerked when he drew his sword. When a few loose strands fell into his face, he realised that Aule had cut his hair.

“Now you look like the prisoner you are.” Aule mustered him disparagingly and gripped his chin so he had to look at him. “What? Don’t I get a rebellious look?”, he mocked. “We’ll leave you now. You can think about what we’ll do with you when we have time for it.” Melkor gulped, he knew there were tears in his eyes. Had his slaves felt like this when he had aimed at frightening them? He was shoved out of the tent and thrown into the mud. “That’s your sleeping place”, Aule told him before he left him. Melkor curled up. He trembled, for the first time in his life, he was cold.

 

Melkor startled awake when a hand closed over his mouth. He had fallen asleep as it seemed, it was dark now. “Not a sound”, Namo breathed into his ear. “Please don’t, herdir”, Melkor whispered, he knew what was to come. “Do I hear the powerful Melkor beg?”, the other Vala mocked before he pushed him roughly on his back.

“You are going to regret that you lied to us, traitor. You are going to regret what you did to the elves, you made your slaves. You will suffer like they did.” Melkor gritted his teeth, he wouldn’t scream, he wouldn’t give Namo the satisfaction. Pain shot like a white flame up his spine when Namo thrust into him, his gaze became blurred.

Above him he could see the stars, stars that Mablung loved so much, it looked as if they were winking at him. How he hated to be so humiliated. Had Mablung hated it as much? He sobbed. Namo laughed at him and mocked him again. Melkor stared into the sky, he felt remote, apart from his body as if it wasn’t him this happened to. It couldn’t be true, surely he’d wake any moment from this nightmare and feel the comforting weight of his slave next to him.

But it wasn’t a dream, he wouldn’t wake. Namo pulled out of him and left. Before he vanished from his field of vision, he turned around and said: “I’ll come back, traitor, you can count on it.” Then Melkor was alone again in the darkness. He curled up sobbing. He knew he deserved this, but he didn’t believe that he was strong enough to bear it until the end.

 

~*~*~

 

Artano stared at the orc that knelt before them. “What?” “He is gone, general. He left yesterday, shortly before sunrise through the southwest tunnel”, the orc repeated. “Are you sure?”, Mo asked. “Yes, general, he seemed to be... absent, as if he didn’t notice what happened around him.”

“You can go.” Artano sent he orc away before someone could say something foolish in the presence of a subordinate. “Prepare for the fight.” He looked sternly at the six generals who stood discouraged around the map. “What’s wrong with you? We know how to command an army, if Melkor is here or not. Where is your fighting spirit?”

“But why did he leave?”, Hentor asked. “He must have known that we don’t stand a chance. We should surrender and hope for Manwe’s mercy.” Mo listened to their arguing, he said nothing, but he knew that he had to get away from here soon. If Melkor was gone, Sauron couldn’t be stopped and he had a score to settle with him. He hoped, Aule would be merciful.

“You can’t mean that! Do you really think they will show us mercy? No, we are in too deep. We have to fight. We have to win!” Sauron’s eyes flashed. He wouldn’t surrender. Mo saw Carnlóme’s thoughtful face. He looked as if he wanted to grab his beloved, of whom he thought no one knew, and run. A scared orc burst into the cardroom. “A herald stands before the gates. He wants to speak with you.” “Let’s go.” Sauron growled. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

 

They looked down on Eonwe who stood in full armour in front of the gates. “What do you want, Eonwe? What have the Valar to say?”, Sauron called down. “Come down, Artano, so we can talk to each other properly.” “I hear you very well from up here. Say what you have to say and be gone.”

Eonwe sighed. “As you wish. The Valar offer every Maia who surrenders before the battle mitigation of punishment. You have time until tomorrow morning. When the sun rises, we attack.” Without waiting for an answer, Eonwe turned around. “Mormirion.” A cold shiver ran down Mo’s spine when Sauron turned to him, his eyes burned.

“We will give them a welcome they won’t soon forget and I don’t want anyone to stab us in the back. You and your soldiers will go to the slave quarters tonight and kill every slave.” Mo felt himself grow pale, he hoped that Sauron didn’t see his horror. “Of course”, he croaked. His thoughts raced. He had planned to slink away on his own, but now...

He looked at Sharû who had accompanied him, his colonel looked as if someone had thrust a dagger into his heart. No, they wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t commit such a blood deed in the last hours of this lost war. He bowed to Sauron and ordered Sharû to follow him. “Summon all the men, I have to talk to them.” “As you wish, general.” Mo felt his friend’s unwillingness, he wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t execute Sauron’s order, but he couldn’t do it in the open.

 

An hour later Mo stood on the parade in front of his men. It weren’t only Melkor’s guard but also the overseers and guards who watched the slaves. Sharû saluted to him. “Everyone is here, general.” Mo nodded. “Thank you, colonel.” He lifted his voice. “I have to announce something to you, soldiers. Certainly word already got around that the king is a prisoner of the Valar. I can’t tell you, why he surrendered to them, I don’t know myself.”

He could guess though. Mablung was gone too, he had looked for him, and he remembered the nocturnal talk he had had with Melkor two days ago. Maybe Melkor had realised what he felt for his slave. “General Artano has ordered us to kill the slaves, so we won’t have to fight them, too. Everyone, without exception, women, children.”

He heard the gasp that travelled through the cave. They would refuse to obey him if he ordered this, Mo was sure. Maybe not all of them, but... Sauron had never understood how he chose his men. “But I’ll tell you something: I won’t do this! The war is lost. We can’t win against the Valar. I don’t want to have the blood of this slaves on my hands.

I want you to help me free the slaves. Help me to take them away from here. You are no murderers, I know that. Everyone of you has contributed to make the slaves’ lives better. Do something good tonight so you can look each other in the eyes tomorrow.” “But general, what happens with us?”, one of his captains, Mardag, asked.

Mo shook his head. “I don’t know. I for one will surrender to the Valar, there is no other way for me, they’ll hunt me. As to you: I only want to help me bring the slaves to safety, what you do after is up to you. I can’t tell you what is the right thing for you. Go back to your posts now, we wait for the night.”

He wished he could save them but he knew that after he had surrendered he wouldn’t even be able to save himself. A shudder ran down his spine when he thought of meeting Aule after all these years. He indicated to Sharû and the captains to follow him. They needed to plan a few things before it was time. Ideas raced around in his head. There weren’t any easy ways now.

 

Mo rubbed his forehead, he had dismissed all except Sharû, everything was said, everything planned, they could only wait now. Sharû looked at him puzzled. “What are you thinking?”, Mo asked with a crooked smile. “How did you get here, Mo?” Sharû shook his head. “You are one of the good ones.” Mo stretched sighing. “I thought once that I belong here, with Melkor, but Melkor is gone and what we do to the elves was never right.”

He clasped Sharû’s shoulder. “Come and drink with me, let us wait for the end together.” Sharû nodded. “It’s an honour, Mo, and I don’t say that because you are my superior.” They walked on silently, Mo only spoke again after he had closed the door of his room behind them. “I wanted to kill Sauron up there, when he ordered me to murder the slaves. I feared he would hear my feelings.”

“I don’t think anyone noticed. I didn’t notice. Do you really want to surrender?” Mo poured wine for them both and drank deeply, his hand trembled. “Yes. I don’t see another way and... I did wrong and need to be punished for it.” Sharû touched their glasses. “I’ll go with you. Where else should I go? My father was an elf, once, as was my grandmother.

I’m so old, I don’t think I’ll grow old and die as many of the younger ones do. My mother always said: ‘Don’t forget where you are coming from. They are your family too.’ Maybe it is time to become the elf I might have been.” Sharû tilted his head and smiled and in the light of the single candle, Mo thought for a moment that he could see that elf.

“What name did your mother give you, Sharû?” Sharû shook his head and suddenly he had tears in his eyes. “Father didn’t want her to give us elf-names. He wanted us to be orcs, completely, so no one had cause to hurt us like they hurt him. She accepted his wish, but the songs she knew from her mother she sang to us anyway.”

Mo put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ll find your way, my friend.” He called his flute. “Have I ever played for you?” Sharû shook his head and Mo spent the hours that remained immersed in the Music. Maybe it would be the last time for  a long time. “Will you help me arm myself?” Mo stood up and stretched. It was time. “Of course.” With every plate of mithril, Sharû strapped on him, his melancholy mood vanished more and more. He had to concentrate on the task before him, his mind had to be clear. “Let us save a few lives, Sharû.”

 

His men were already on their positions. Mo gave the order to advance, they would gather all slaves on the great square where the meals were given out. “Act with restrain”, he warned. “Remind yourself that in a few hours they will be the masters.” They hadn’t reckoned to find the houses empty. Mo’s hair stood on end. Had they heard of what Sauron had ordered? That wasn’t good.

He cast out his senses and found the elves on the square. What were they up to? Did they want to risk an open fight? They where many of course, much more than his soldiers, but unarmed against armed soldiers... They were desperate – and it weren’t all of them. “Let the men draw back”, he ordered Sharû. “I’ll go alone to them.” Sharû opened his mouth to object but thought better of it and only gave his orders.

Mo went on. If he showed up with an army, it would come to the massacre he wanted to prevent. The elves would fight, they wouldn’t leave him another choice. He hoped that they would listen to him when he came alone. He lifted his hands when he walked onto the square. Distrustful eyes watched him. They were armed with sticks and stones. Desperate courage.

“I don’t want to fight you and I came alone. Let us talk. Who speaks for you?” “We know why you came, general”, said a Noldo. His left cheek was disfigured by a burn scar but in his eyes was the light of Aman. “We won’t be killed without a fight.” “We didn’t come to kill you, although it was ordered. We want to help you to get free.”

Soft muttering broke out. Mo heard the name _Asea Mahan_. The elf scrutinized him warily. “Why would you do that?” “Because the war is lost – and it is right.” Mo looked the elf in the eyes. “I want to be able to look into the mirror after this day and not hate myself.” Mo opened his sword belt and offered the weapon to the elf.

“Kill me if you want, but know that my men might take it ill.” The elf reached out and closed his hand around the hilt. “What’s your name?” Something flashed in the eyes of the elf when he drew the sword and held it to Mo’s throat. “Slaves don’t have names, you know that.”

“You aren’t a slave anymore”, Mo answered calmly. He wasn’t frightened for himself, his body was only a cloak, he could replace it, given time, if it were necessary. But it would be bad for the elves, he didn’t know if Sharû could pull off their plan if the elf killed him. A drop of blood ran down his neck.

“You really mean it”, the elf said stunned. “Completely. Come with me. I’ll take you out of here.” The elf pulled back the weapon. “What’s your plan?” “I’ll lead you through one of the tunnels, we can’t take the main gate.” Mo’s gaze wandered over the crowd. “Where did you hide your women and children? I only see grown men.” “In the work buildings”, the elf answered haltingly.

Mo could see that he didn’t trust him completely, yet. “Here are only those who already fought in a battle.” “Very reasonable.” Mo declined when the elf wanted to give him his sword back. “Keep it. You will need it, we are at war, the tunnels will be guarded.” “But...”

Mo smiled wryly. “The elf who was ready to fight against armoured soldiers armed only with a stick, has earned this weapon. Take it, I don’t need it anymore. When you are safe I’ll surrender to the judgement of the Valar. Come, it’s time to arm your men properly.” Mo saw Sharû’s unrest when he came back, the elves trailing behind him. “It went well, colonel.”

 

“May I ask for your name again?”, Mo said, while he watched the elves arming themselves in the armoury. The elf grinned at him. “I’m Ecthelion of Gondolin.” Mo was for a moment too stunned to say anything. “But it was said Ecthelion had fallen." “Yes. I was hurt badly. But I wasn’t dead. They took me captive, but they didn’t recognise me and I was glad for it. I used a false name if someone asked me, and that didn’t happen often anyway.”

Mo bowed. “I’m not surprised that you lead them. The sword will serve you well.” Mo had armed himself with a blade from the armoury so he wouldn’t be defenseless. He saw with pleasure how with every mail shirt that was donned, with every weapon that was taken in hand, the slaves became more and more the warriors they had been – and would be again.

“It is the best weapon you will ever take in hand, Sauron forged it and you can say about him what you want, but he knows his craft.” Ecthelion drew the sword and looked at it with new reverence. “It is a wonderful weapon. Are you sure...” “Yes. I’ll be a prisoner soon, it would be taken from me anyway. This way I can be sure that someone gets it who deserves it. Look at it as payment for your services.”

“I’ll cherish it.” Ecthelion sheathed it again. “I’ll send a few of my men to fetch the ones who can’t fight.” Mo nodded and called for one of his captains. “A few of the orcs will accompany you, it’s safer that way.” “Will they fight with us?”, Ecthelion asked and eyed Sharû, who stood near them without participating in their conversation. “They will.” “And after?”

Mo shrugged. “I have left it up to them what they'll do when you are safe. Some of them will maybe surrender with me, in the hope that the Valar will see what they are.” “Orcs with elvish blood”, Ecthelion murmured. “I’m aware of how much they did for us. I wasn’t here before you took the supervision but I heard that our lives were better after that.” “I wish we could have done more.” Mo lowered his gaze.

“You did so much, Asea Mahan. Thanks to you we had a roof over our heads that really kept the rain away, thanks to you we had enough to eat to feed a hungry child and still be able to work.” Ecthelion pushed the hair from his disfigured face. “Thanks to you we always had a place where we could ask for help. You might not know it, but without you, I wouldn’t be alive and I’m sure there isn’t an elf in Angband who doesn’t at least know someone whom you helped.”

Ecthelion pointed to one of the orcs. “I knew him when he was a boy. Thanks to you he had a choice, thanks to you he didn’t have to see his mother dying tonight. When you are on trial, I’ll tell the Valar what you did for us and I don’t think I’ll be the only one.” Mo felt tears in his eyes. He didn’t deserve this. “I did so much wrong”, he answered softly. “I deserve to be punished.”

“Maybe.” Ecthelion shrugged. “I don’t know why you decided to follow Morgoth and it’s not my place to ask. But I know that many of those who’ll find their freedom tonight won’t be alive without you.” “It wasn’t only me.” Mo’s gaze wandered over his men. “I remember you now. You got your injuries when a furnace exploded, didn’t you? It were two of my men who brought you to me. And each payday they gave half of their pay to buy food for you.”

“That... I didn’t know that.” “No one knew. It would have been a disaster if it had come out.” “But why did they do it?” Ecthelion looked as if his whole worldview had started to crumble. “Because I know his father”, Sharû said suddenly and pointed to the orc, Ecthelion had mentioned earlier.

“Before Mo came, we ignored the children we might have with a slave. Not all orcs are uncaring monsters. To see how your own child is made a slave...” Sharû shook his head. “Better to don’t know it at all. Mo gave our children a future. Mo encouraged us to be what we are. My grandmother was a slave and my father was an elf, before... If my skin were lighter or my eyes blue I would have been weeded out.

Everyone of this men has a similar story to tell but we are trained to forget it. Mo wanted us to remember and if you remember were you come from, you can’t let your relatives starve.” Sharû stretched out his hand. “My name is Sharû.” Ecthelion shook it after a moment of hesitation. “Ecthelion.”

 

Ecthelion’s sword struck the mail of an orc and cut through it like butter. It was a divine blade, Mormirion hadn’t promised too much. He whirled around when he saw a movement in the corner of his eye but it was one of theirs. He would never have thought that he would one day fight at the side of orcs – and every time one of them turned up next to him with a drawn sword, his instincts screamed at him to defend himself.

Ecthelion turned his head, he was almost blind on his left eye, he only saw movements. The thick of a fight wasn’t the best place for him but he would be damned if he waited with the women and children and let others fight for his freedom. He was oddly relieved that it had come to a fight. He had searched so long for an opportunity to flee and then it should simply drop into his lap? That would have been too easy.

He was still a little wary. The enemy had used complicated ruses in the past to deceive them. But he would find out if they meant what they said. The last foes were dead and the Maia led them on. The strangest thing was that Ecthelion didn’t feel uncomfortable in the company of the orcs. “Relatives” Sharû had called them and maybe that was the truth. Ecthelion knew the legends that told how the first orcs had been created and when he looked at a few of this soldiers he believed every word of it.

They helped them to escape! The notion that orcs and elves didn’t need to be mortal enemies was new to him. But they had saved their lives, maybe you couldn't judge the character from the appearance. He would watch and wait. It felt like an eternity until they finally came to the surface again and all were assembled, in the narrow tunnel they had had to spread out far.

It was completely silent, not even the children cried as if they felt that something special happened. The Maia turned to his soldiers. “It is time, soldiers. There lies he host of the Valar.” Ecthelion looked in the direction Mormirion pointed and saw the light of many fires in the sky. “Thank you for being at my side at this last operation. I’m proud to have led you, you exceeded my wildest hopes. Go now where you want to go.”

To Ecthelion’s surprise most of the orcs stayed, only a few ran away. Actually, a few already mixed with the former slaves, moved to the side of their mothers. Ecthelion stepped to the Maia and said softly: “Those who stay shall give up their weapons, that goes for you, too.” “You don’t trust us”, Mormirion noted calmly.

Ecthelion shrugged. “Would you? I’m grateful that you freed us but I survived for so long because I’m wary. This could be a complicated ruse to attack the Valar.” Mormirion laughed. “An interesting idea. But no, it’s not like that.” He lifted his voice. “Give your weapons to the elves, soldiers. From this moment we are the prisoners and they lead.”

 

Mo gave his lent sword to an elf. “We are in your hands, Ecthelion. Lead us.” He felt the cautious hope of the elves and the anxiety of his men. He wished he could reassure them but he didn’t know himself what awaited them and how they would be received. The Valar had always been their enemies, they feared them, they only knew Melkor. He had been surprised how many had stayed. But maybe they just hadn’t know what to do with their freedom.

They had been ordered around all their lives. It couldn’t be easy for them. For him it was like coming home, as long as he had been away. He knew the Valar, he knew that he deserve every punishment they might subject him to. For his men it was a step in the dark, in the hope that no abyss awaited. He worried for them, he wouldn’t be able to protect them.

Mo felt queasy, he didn’t fear the Valar in general, but Aule... Aule would be against him, so he would be against the orcs. Who could he turn to? He didn’t even know, who had come. How was Melkor? Why had he surrendered? Had he realised that it was hopeless to fight? What had he done with Mablung? The prospect of Mablung being in the camp was a good feeling.

Had Melkor told him what he felt for him? Mo shook his head. He couldn’t believe this by any stretch of imagination. Even if Melkor had done this for him he wouldn’t have told him. Mo realised that they were looked for, he shouldn’t be surprised. They weren’t very inconspicuous and he must feel like a beacon to his brothers. “Halt!” Eonwes voice was steely, his eyes buried into Mo’s. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I bring you Angband’s slaves”, Mo answered. “They are free – and me and my men surrender to the judgement of the Valar.” He knelt and waited. “They helped us to get free”, he heard Ecthelion say. “They are _our_ prisoners.” Mo wondered what he intended by that. “And who might you be?” “Ecthelion of the Fountain.” Mo heard unrest from Eonwe’s escort, it had already erupted when he surrendered but now it came back with more force.

They knew the name. Everyone knew the name. Ecthelion had been one of the Lords of Gondolin. Eonwe didn’t let show if he was surprised to see him here. “It isn’t for me to decide, especially in Mormirions case. Come with me, I’ll take care that you have roof over your head, you must be tired.” One of the Maiar addressed Mo. “Follow me, Aule wants to see you.” Mo felt sick. He feared this encounter.

He didn’t turn around when he followed Lunondo but he could feel the worry, the fear, of his men. He wanted to stay, but it would be a mistake to defy Aule now. If Ecthelion intended to protect them by claiming them as their prisoners, he could do more for them than Mo. Lunondo didn’t talk to him as he led him through the camp but Mo could feel his hatred. He hadn’t anticipated anything else.

His former brothers were unquestioningly loyal to Aule, they took his betrayal personally. They stopped at an open square where a naked man was chained to a post. Mo felt his heart break when he recognised Melkor, his anger blazed up. How could they do something like that? They were meant to be just! Was it just to treat a prisoner like this? And what did it mean for him?

Mo reached out to him, but Melkor didn’t react. He wore a blindfold but that he didn’t feel him... Was it so bad? They had noticed that his powers lessened, although no one would have dared to tell him to his face, but that he couldn’t even hear him when he called for him was terrifying. Mo turned away. If he looked any longer at him he would do something stupid that would get them both into more trouble.

“Not so mighty as you know him, is he?” Mo wanted to punch the gloating smile from his face but he controlled himself. Had he only brought him here so he saw Melkor? “Take me to Aule.” He hoped that Lunondo couldn’t hear the trembling of his voice. Aule wore armour that was befitting of a smith, he was ready for the fight.

Angband was damned to fall. Melkor was gone and the slaves that Mo had freed would gladly tell which way they had come. Mo knelt, before Lunondo could force him down. He felt Aule’s anger but strangely, to be in his presence woke feelings Mo had long thought dead. When he had entered Aule’s service he had been completely sure to do the right thing and even now... he couldn’t hate him.

He wouldn’t have betrayed Melkor but he hadn’t been happy in his service for a long time. So much of what they had done was wrong. There was no going back, Aule wouldn’t want him anymore and this fact pained him more than he would have thought. “Wait outside, Lunondo.” Mo shivered when he heard him speak. He couldn’t fight it, he always had admired Aule.

Mo gasped when Aule backhanded him. “How could you betray me so?”, Aule growled. Mo’s head swam, his cheekbone hurt. He was sure that if Aule had worn a gauntlet he would have broken his jaw. “Don’t think I’ll let myself be blinded. You only helped the elves in the hopes it would move me to leniency. You will get what you deserve, Mormirion, don’t doubt it.”

He didn’t doubt it, he would welcome it. “I don’t have time to deal with you now.” Aule called Lunondo back and ordered the Maia to take Mo to the other prisoners. Mo thought at first that he meant his men, but when he was pushed into the tent he recognised a few of his brothers who had been taken prisoner by the Valar earlier in the war. They were guarded heavily and Mo didn’t dare to talk to them. He heard the clamour of an army that readied itself. Was this the last fight? He hoped it, it would be better if it were over.

 

~*~*~

 

The battle was lost. Artano admitted to himself that it had been lost before it began. But he wouldn’t be taken prisoner, he’d rather run. He took one of the tunnels that only Melkor and his generals had known, it was a long way and when he came back to the surface he saw Angband burn in the distance.

‘I’m free’, he thought. For the first time in his life he was truly free. He could do what he wanted, there was no one who would give him orders. “Mairon?” It was Eonwe, he hadn’t noticed him. Artano moved further into the shadows. “Mairon, I know that you are here somewhere. I can feel you. Come out!”

Eonwe’s inflection changed. “Mairon, please, I’m not here on my Master’s order. Osse asked me to search you.” Nothing happened, Eonwe sighed and turned to go. “What does Osse want from me?” Artano stepped out from the trees warily. “He asks you to come back. Surrender to the judgement of the Valar.” Artano scrutinized Eonwe. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Do you want to hide? Always on the run? Marion you know that you can’t get away.” Artano laughed. “They are only here because they couldn’t look away anymore. They won’t search for me. I won’t bow to them.” Artano turned away. “Come back, Mairon. Osse is your friend.” “I don’t have friends!”, he growled, angry that the thought of Osse hurt so much. “I won’t be imprisoned.”

Artano walked into the shadows of the trees again, they helped him to hide. “Mairon, come back! I only want to help you”, he heard Eonwe call but he only smiled grimly. He wouldn’t give away his newfound freedom. He cast a last glance back at the burning Angband that had been his home for so long, he wouldn’t forget this image and he wouldn’t forget Melkor, maybe he could free him sometime.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

_1 S.A._

Mablung sat shivering in front of a small fire and stared at the burning sky. There could only be one explanation for it: Angband burned. He grieved – and he was frightened. He had been a slave for the bigger part of his life, had bowed to the wishes of his Master and had had almost no free will. Now he had to fend for himself suddenly, had to make his own decision.

He should have been glad about it but he feared this sudden freedom. And this incredible sadness because he had lost Melkor tore at him. He took out the crinkled envelope Melkor had given him before he left and broke the seal. Melkor had ordered him to only open it after two days and he had obeyed. He wanted to honour his Master’s last order although he wouldn’t know it.

 

_Beloved Mablung,_ he read.

_‘Beloved’ how wrong this must sound in your ears, after all I have done to you. How much you must hate me! But I can’t deny my own feelings any longer. I love you, Mablung. I love you more than my life, but I am too craven to tell you. I don’t want to see the hatred in your eyes. It would break my heart. As long as I don’t know for sure that you hate me, I can dream. For a little while._

_I hope you like my last present. I wanted you to be free and so I surrendered. For your freedom and because your unconditional devotion, your readiness to bear everything I subjected you to, and not least your gentleness changed me. When I chose you, my heart was a cold rock but you softened it, so slowly and imperceptibly that I didn’t want to see it - until the end. I remember now, why I became what I am. I remember what I really wanted. Thank you for reminding me. I found myself again at last, because of you. My power doesn’t mean anything without you._

_I’ll be already a prisoner when you read this, undoubtedly. Maybe you already saw me. I think my humiliation will give you satisfaction. And still I cling desperately to the hope that it doesn’t – you had mercy even for Sauron, after all. You served me for so long and I hope that you know me so well that you did see the true Melkor, the person I should have been. My greatest wish is you not hating me, but I know that can’t be._

_I admire you, Mablung, you have so much strength. You bore so much that broke others. I wish I had your strength because I know that I will suffer for the things I did and I fear that I won’t come through. I have nothing left to fight for._

_But why do I tell you this? You won’t care, you shouldn’t care! There’s just no one left whom I could tell it to. It is selfish as everything I did._

_I wish you happiness, Mablung. I hope you’ll find your family and that you can live without my shadow. The Valar will lock me up and never let me out again and I hope you can forget me and how you suffered through me, if not now, maybe sometime. I never deserved your devotion, give it to someone who is worthy of you, who loves you as you deserve it. Be happy._

_I will remember you as long as I can think, even then, when I’m only a hazy memory for you._

_With eternal love_

_Melkor_

_I know it is presumptuous to ask something of you but I don’t know who else I could entrust with it. Look after Mórhuin, he will find you, I don’t want him to suffer for my deeds, he never did anything bad._

 

Mablung’s cheeks were wet with tears. He sobbed with despair. Why hadn’t he listened to his heart? He had known what he felt for his Master! Why hadn’t he stayed? Why hadn’t he told him what he felt? Maybe Melkor wouldn’t have surrendered, maybe they could have been happy together. He had been undecided, if he should ask the Valar for mercy but now he knew that he couldn’t. He didn’t want to see how Melkor was judged, he didn’t want to testify against him.

He folded the letter with trembling fingers and tucked it in his pocket. Before he really knew what he did, he was up and ran back west. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could find Melkor before the Valar did. It mustn’t be too late! If the Valar had him, they wouldn’t let him to him, but he had to tell him that he loved him, too.

Melkor loved him! Two days ago this knowledge would have made him happier than he had been all his live but now it only made the pain in his heart worse. He run until his legs didn’t carry him further, after a few hours of sleep he went on, but it was too late. There were only smoking ruins left of Angband. The ruins of his life.

Melkor was a prisoner. He should forget him, Melkor had been cruel to him, there was no doubt about that. But he couldn’t hate him. He loved his torturer, his Master, his so rarely gentle lover. Mablung still felt his soft lips on his when he had kissed him for the last time. Tears streaked down his cheeks. He missed him already, the knowledge that he would never see him again broke his heart.

Mablung turned around, away from the burning ruins. He didn’t know what to do. Where should he go? Surely not back to Aman, he couldn’t watch them punishing Melkor. Yes, he had longed to see his family again but he couldn’t go back. He didn’t want to explain again and again that he didn’t hate Melkor. He didn’t want to lie to his family and they wouldn’t believe the truth, so he would go away.

He would go over the Ered Lindon. The loneliness didn’t scare him. He liked to be alone, with only the birds that sang in the trees and the wind that whispered secrets. He had missed that too. Melkor was gone and he would remain alone forever. Mablung made the first step away from his old life. After a few steps his legs gave way. His hands sank deep into the ashes.

How long had it been since he had ridden with Melkor over this plain? Mablungs heart felt like it was being torn in two. How should he live without him. He was everything for him. The One? Mablung sobbed. Could that be? An Elf and a Vala? He knew that he would never love anyone as he loved Melkor. A coldness he had only felt once before, when he crossed the Helcaraxe, seeped through his body. He closed the eyes and wished to fall asleep and never wake again.

He was woken by a sound and opened his puffy eyes. His mouth tasted like ashes. The sun was high in the sky and shone on the black coat of the horse that stood beside him and breathed into his face. Mablung felt that it was a Maia – Mórhuin. “Melkor wrote that you would find me. Be welcome”, he said with hoarse voice.

He swallowed hard when the pain came back with all force. The name of his Master thrust red-hot blades into his heart. Mablung curled up, laid his head on his knees and let the tears flow. He felt as if he would never be able to stop crying again.

 

Mórhuin fought with himself. He didn’t change his form often, he didn’t like it, but he knew that the elf needed someone who was a little more like him now. He wanted to help him, he looked so lost. He sighed deeply and the next moment in the place of the horse stood an elf with black hair and dark skin. He staggered on unsteady feet to Mablung and embraced him, caressed his head and back.

“What’s wrong?”, Mórhuin whispered gently. “Why are you so sad? Aren’t you happy that you are free now?” Mablung shook his head and sobbed something. Mórhuin could only make out “Love him”. “You love him? Melkor?” He stared at the elf. Mablung nodded miserably. Mórhuin pulled him closer and stayed silent.

He loved him and dumb questions wouldn’t make it better. Melkor was gone, forever unreachable, Mablung knew that too. Maybe the pain would lessen with time but now nothing could ease it. He felt the pain too, maybe not so bad but he had also lost his Master – his friend.

 

~*~*~

 

Melkor screamed when the whip stroke his bloody back. Mo’s eyes burned, he tried desperately to hold back his tears. He choked on a sob, he pitied Melkor although he knew that he probably deserved this. He looked miserable, bound to the post, too weak to stand. Blood and mud streaked his body, his eyes were blindfolded. Was this truly the Vala who had held Beleriand’s fate in his hands? He almost couldn’t believe it.

Finally, to Mo it felt like an eternity, Namo untied him. Melkor fell into the mud and didn’t move. Everything in Mo screamed at him to run to him and help him up. How abandoned he must feel. Mo was at least with the other prisoners, but Melkor was completely alone. One of the Maiar who guarded them, laughed spitefully. “Look at him, your Master. Isn’t he pathetic? And you keep faith with someone like this?”

“Stop it.” Mo clenched his fists and buried his nails in his skin before he could say anything more. The Maia stepped in front of him. “Did you say something, traitor?” He shoved him so hard that Mo lost his balance, impeded by his bound hands, and fell into the mud. His anger blazed up. He knew that it would be wiser to keep his mouth shut and behave humbly, he knew that the other only waited for a wrong word from him to have an excuse to torment him, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You know nothing about him”, he hissed. “You don’t know how he truly is. Don’t dare to call him pathetic, because he screams with pain. I would make you scream if things were different...” Lundondo punched him in the face. Mo screamed, he had hit him were Aule had slapped him a few days before, his cheek was black and his eye swollen shut.

Before he could move a foot connected with his belly and more blows followed. He curled up gasping and tried to shield his face with his arms. Yes, it had been a huge mistake. How could he have been so stupid to say something like that. He would have screamed, if he had had the breath for it. “Let’s see who makes whom scream, you dirty traitor!”, the Maia screamed at him.

When he already thought they would beat him to death, he finally heard Aule coming. “What is happening here?” Mo opened his good eye gingerly. The guards bowed low, for a moment no one said anything. Mo noticed that the other prisoners had been brought away. Wonderful, no one who could have spoken in his defence.

The Maia just told his version of the story where Mo had suddenly started to insult him without provocation. The other guards nodded their affirmative. Aule glanced at him ungraciously. “Stand up”, he barked at him and left. Mo hurried to follow him, he didn’t want to be left alone with the guards.

 

Melkor was vaguely aware that the people, who had watched his beating, where leaving. “Stay!”, he wanted to call after them. “Don’t leave me.” But no one would have granted his wish, even if he still would have had the strength to call. Not the way he meant it at least. The cold mud that coated his body made him shiver and he would have curled up to warm himself if he didn’t know that it would tear on the wounds on his back.

Namo hauled him up and dragged him to his tent where he was alone with him. “I haven’t finished with you, traitor.” Melkor whimpered. He begged Eru for help but his father remained silent. And he hadn’t anticipated anything else, his father had left him a long time ago, he didn’t care for his rebellious son. The pain when Namo took him was so much worse than the lashes. It didn’t only hurt his body, his soul bled. Tears soaked the blindfold and ran down his face.

 

Mo knelt before Aule. His nose still bled and his whole body hurt, he just wanted to wash off the dirt and curl up somewhere. He didn’t dare to look up, Aule was angry with him, he could feel it. “It wasn’t...” “Hold your tongue!”, Aule snapped at him. “I don’t want to hear that.” He looked at his mud-coated servant. He was so mad at him! And still...

Aule touched Mormirion’s cheek with his fingertips. He had never before hit one of his Maiar in anger. That shouldn’t have happened, he didn’t need an elf to tell him that. “Yesterday one of the Angband-Elves wanted to talk to me. Ecthelion? He gave me a parchment where they ask for mercy for you, there are a lot of signatures on it. What did you do, Mormirion? Why did you leave me if you didn’t agree with Melkor’s behaviour?”

Why had he lost him? Aule had been grieved after his anger had cooled. He still felt grief and he was so very tired. “You didn’t trust me”, Mormirion murmured. “You listened to a woman, who didn’t know me at all. Sauron just had made me the offer to follow him to Melkor when you came to talk to me. He talked me into believing that you didn’t appreciate me and then you came and blamed me as if I were already guilty. I was... hurt, herdir. Sauron persuaded me that Melkor would appreciate me more than you.”

Mormirion looked up at him. “He _did_ appreciate me more, but... the price was too high. After a while I couldn’t treat the elves like this any longer. I tried to ease their suffering as much as I could. I deserve to be punished, herdir, I know that and I... I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It was wrong, but he insulted Melkor and... he was my king, he was something like a friend. I can’t act as if he didn’t mean anything to me.”

Aule sighed heavily. “Tell me of Angband. The elves call you _asea mahan_ and they treat the orcs as if they were elves. I want to know how that came to be.” Mo gingerly wiped the blood off his upper lip and thought carefully about his next words. He felt that it was important what he said next. “I won’t lie to you, herdir”, he started slowly. “I did many wrong things. I killed and I didn’t treat the slaves better than the others at first, but then...”

He hadn’t told anyone, only Sinthoras – and Mablung. “Sauron persuaded me to join Melkor only for one reason. He wanted me and when he finally could have me, he treated me like his slave. He looked down on me, he only wanted to have his way with me.” Mo swallowed hard, but Aule needed to know. He needed to understand that he repented.

“And that’s why I know how it is to be treated like a slave. And that’s why I couldn’t rape elves any longer. I suddenly looked at them and saw how wrong it was. I tried to help them. I procured more food for them, I cared for injured elves... I should have done more, I should have talked to Melkor.” Mo sobbed. “But I was too craven. I was afraid to lose his favour.”

Aule embraced the crying Maia. He could feel his pain, his regret. “Why didn’t you leave?”, he asked softly. “We forgave Osse. I would have taken you back.” It was the truth. It was his fault, too. Mormirion had been one of many. No wonder, Sauron’s words had taken root. He should have taken more notice of him, not only him. He had tried to do better, after, but it had been too late for Mormirion.

Mormirion shook his head. “At first, I served Melkor because I hoped he would take more notice of me than you, but it became more. I worshipped him, I loved him, he could have asked anything of me. Not everything that he did was right, but... I was unhappy about the conditions the slaves lived in, but I wasn’t unhappy to serve him. And I... I didn’t think you would want me back.”

Aule wiped the muddy, shaggy hair from his face. “You are mine, Mormirion. I never released you from my service, and my brothers see it like that, too.” Something glimmered in Mormirion’s eyes that Aule couldn’t read, then he lowered his gaze. “I will try to be a better servant to you than I was, herdir.” Aule stood up. “We will see in due course.” He didn’t want to bring him back to the prisoners’ tent the way he looked.

He pulled back the canvas that separated a part of the tent and pointed at the tub that stood there. The water had been brought for him but he wasn’t nearly as dirty as Mormirion. “Bathe, Mormirion.” He untied him and watched him undress slowly, he was in pain. “Is it true? Did you really tell him that you would make him scream?” “Yes”, Mormirion said ashamed. “I was so angry, he provoked me.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, herdir. I didn’t want to give you more trouble than you already have with me.”

“You will apologise to him, tomorrow”, Aule said sternly. “I won’t suffer such talk.” “Of course, herdir.” Mo didn’t quite manage to hide his discontent. He moaned when he sat down in the hot water. Mo closed his eyes. The heat burned on his sore skin but it felt so indescribably good. He wasn’t able to figure Aule out but at the moment he was just glad that there wasn’t more pain for now.

He didn’t look forward to apologising, but as he had expected to receive a beating as punishment, it was the smaller evil. It had been long since he had been beaten like that, his whole body felt sore. He didn’t want to overstrain Aule’s goodwill, so he hurried to wash the mud from his hair. It took him much too much effort to dry himself, although his condition wasn’t as bad as Melkor’s.

Now that he was clean, he wasn’t eager to dress in his dirty clothes, but he had no choice. “Wait”, Aule said when he bent down to retrieve his shirt. “Lie down, I’ll get you fresh clothes tomorrow.” Aule’s words made Mo’s hair stand on end. Did he want to... He slowly limped to the bed, knowing very well that he had to obey. “How does your face feel?”, Aule asked and caressed his cheek, the mattress dipped when he sat down next to him.

“I’m fine”, Mo mumbled embarrassed and slightly nervous. He was in pain and he didn’t know if Aule would be gentle. It had been a long time since someone had had him. “What wrong?” Aule could feel his fear and frowned. “Do you think... You wouldn’t think that I would force myself on you?”

Mo looked away ashamed. “Forgive me, herdir.” He was relieved. “I didn’t want to insult you.” Aule stroked his hair. “Do you think so ill of me?” “No, herdir! I’m just used to different treatment.” Aule nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. Sleep now, you need it.” Mo closed his burning eyes. ‘No, you don’t’, he thought. No one could understand who hadn’t lived through it.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Mo opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t. He could only open them to narrow slits. He touched his throbbing nose gingerly. It felt as if it had swelled to double of its normal size. “How are you?” Mo’s vision was blurry. “Miserable.” He sat up slowly. The notion of having to walk all day made him feel queasy. “Why don’t you heal yourself?”

Mo smiled crookedly. Did he really not understand? “I’m not keen on having the shit beaten out of me again.” Aule needed a moment to understand what he implied. “You think they would do that if you healed yourself?” “I’m sure of it.” Mo would apologise later, his Master demanded it, but he doubted that his brother would forgive him his words – or his betrayal.

Besides, it was hard for him to change his body, he had worn it too long. “Dress.” Aule gave him clean clothes, his old things were beyond repair. Mo dressed with slow, painful motions. Every muscle in his body felt sore and he was sure that a few of his ribs were broken.

To his surprise Aule didn’t tie his wrists again. “I expect of you to behave, Mormirion.” Aule sounded stern but there was a small smile in the corner of his mouth. “I will, herdir.” Mo managed an awkward bow. For the first time he asked himself if maybe it wasn’t all over.

 

Mo collapsed and closed his eyes, he was exhausted. He hadn’t felt so bad in a long time and hoped that they would let him sleep. Lunondo hadn’t left him alone the whole day. “Come with me.” Mo stood up with gritted teeth and followed Aule. He was surprised, more than a little, that the Vala cared so much for him. He was a prisoner, a defeated enemy, a traitor. A hard punishment waited for him – and when he saw what they did to Melkor... Mo shivered.

“I hear a lot of good things about you.” Aule looked him over and when he saw that Mo almost couldn’t keep himself on his feet he pointed to a deck chair. “Sit down before you fall down.” Mo obeyed relieved, he felt dizzy. “The elves you freed, I talked to a few of them. Did you really persuade these orcs to give their pay to buy food for slaves?”

Mo shrugged embarrassed. “There wasn’t much persuasion needed. All of my men have one or more elves among their nearer kin. They only needed a nudge in the right direction.” “Your men?” Aule lifted an eyebrow. “I thought, orcs were only tools for Melkor.” “For Melkor maybe. They are my men. Always, regardless of what happens. They always knew that they could count on me, that I don’t look down on them because of what they are and they thanked me with their loyalty. What did you do to them?”, he dared to ask.

“They are well and taken care for. These elves protect them very decidedly. For now we allow it.” Mo relaxed. He felt responsible for them, he would have never forgiven himself if they were killed. “Why didn’t you fight? They seem to be surprisingly disciplined. You could have defied us.”

Mo smiled regretfully. “I knew that it was over as soon as I heard that you came over the sea. Melkor... there was a time when he was a match for you, but... No one who loves his life would have dared to confront him with it, but we all felt that he became weaker. The best of my men where is guard and the others guarded the slaves, of course we could have fought if we had wanted, but I didn’t want to lead them to their deaths.”

“Instead you disobeyed an order and saved the slaves. Why?” Aule’s music was unreadable, his face emotionless. “Because I didn’t want to have more blood on my hands. I wanted to do something I could be proud of, just once. Some of my men have mothers who are slaves. Should I have ordered them to kill their families? Mothers, half siblings, elves who were like fathers to them?” Mo shook his head.

“I knew that it was over, it wouldn’t have changed anything to kill them and even if... no, it was too much. I couldn’t do it. I have burdened myself with enough guilt.” “As I said, they only speak good of you, as if you never did anything wrong.” “Because they only knew me after I opened my eyes.” Mo felt sharp pain in his heart. He was so ashamed.

“After I joined Melkor I suddenly had so much power. Power gets to one’s head, I wasn’t used to exert it. If you only believe strong enough that another is worth less than you and that he owes you obedience, you soon are ready to do everything to demand that submission. I had slaves, many slaves, and I enjoyed it. I liked to beat them, I felt entitled to use them. Their pain, their fear, their unwilling submission... it aroused me.”

Mo knew that he risked his neck with his words but he wouldn’t lie to Aule. If he ever wanted to get a second chance he mustn’t lie. All this would come out anyway. “I know that I committed unforgivable crimes, that I deserve punishment.” Mo swallowed hard. “What is going to happen to me, herdir?”, he finally asked.

 

Aule was amazed that Mormirion didn’t try to make excuses. He had talked to the elves, they were full of praise of him. They had given his brothers names like Sauron and Gothmog but him they called _asea mahan_ , he was their saviour. He wasn’t sure if Mormirion only attempted at leniency with his openly shown remorse and thought differently in private – but he had to admit that it worked on him.

And he wouldn’t have been able to buy the forgiveness of the former slaves. “I believe you. Maybe your remorse will earn you clemency, but I’m not to decide that. Namo will judge you.” He didn’t want to raise his hopes up – or be too easy on him, but... “After that... it’s up to you. What do you want? Do you want to serve me again?”

Mormirion looked up, tears in his eyes. “You really want me back? After all I have done?”, he asked, his voice small and helpless. “You failed my trust but I’m ready to give you another chance if you want it. As I said, I still consider you my servant, even though you strayed.” “Yes, herdir, I want to serve you.” Mormirion kissed his hand and Aule felt his relieve at his words. “Thank you. I... whatever is going to happen to me, it will be easier to endure because I know that I still have a home.”

“I’m glad that you see it like that, Mormirion.” Aule pulled his hand back in surprise. He wasn’t used to be kissed on the hand. “You will stay with me until your trial. I don’t want you to get into more trouble.” “I don’t want to be a burden, herdir.” Mormirion was deeply embarrassed.

“You aren’t a burden. I want to know where and how you are. You made a lot of enemies with your rash words. I hope it will pass out of mind until your trial. Melkor has the highest priority anyway.” Mormirion tried to hide his feelings, but Aule heard them clearly. “You don’t agree with how we treat him.” “It seems cruel to me, herdir.” Mormirion lowered his head.

Aule felt envy tug at his heart. Why did he still defend Melkor? “He deserves it”, he answered harshly. “He did terrible things, I know. I anticipated you to punish him hard for it and yes, he probably deserves it. But... this kind of punishment? When did you start to use the whip?” “I don’t have to explain our actions to you, Mormirion”, answered Aule. “You forget yourself.”

“I know, I don’t have the right to tell you this”, Mormirion ducked, “but sometimes there is only a narrow line between justice and cruelty. You should be careful to not get on the wrong side of it, or you might become like him in your wrath. Do you want to have to compare yourself to him?”

Aule was tempted to shrug his words off. He only defended his king. He growled at the thought that Melkor still had a part of Mormirion’s heart. But he couldn’t deny the truth. “I will think about your words, Mormirion, they might be wise. But now it would be better if you don’t say more.” “Yes, herdir.”

 

Mablung ran through the wood, Mórhuin somewhere to his left, he looked like a horse again. ‘Mablung?’ The Maia had taken to talking in his mind, in Valarin. Mablung shivered every time he did it. It might be normal for Mórhuin but he wasn’t used to it. ‘Yes?’ ‘Come to me, you should look at this.’ Mablung went into the direction where he felt Mórhuin, he could feel his anxiety.

The Maia stood before someone who had curled up at the foot of a tree. Mablung walked up cautiously. It was a woman, she stared at him with big eyes – and she was pregnant. “Can I help you, mistress?”, he asked in Sindarin. “The child...”, she whispered with a strong accent that made Mablung think she was a Nando. “I... I think it is coming.” She moaned when something moved in her belly.

Mablung trembled, he had stumbled right into an imminent delivery. What should he do? “Please, I’m thirsty.” “Of course.” Mablung’s pulled the stopper from his water skin with trembling fingers and put it to her lips to let her drink. “All is well”, he murmured and caressed her hair. “You are going to be alright.” Mablung tried to soothe himself as much as the woman with his words.

He felt the wish to run away but he couldn’t leave her alone here. “I think you should undress.” He blushed. “So your dress won’t get bloody, I mean.” She smiled at his embarrassment. “You are right.” She opened the ties of her dress and he helped her to get it off. Moss grew all around the tree, she would be comfortable.

Mablung’s hand touched his thigh unconsciously when he saw the brand on her chest, but he didn’t say anything, there would be time for this later. He let her lay her head on his thigh. “You’ll manage”, he said. “I’ll help you.” Although he didn’t know how. He had never been around a woman giving birth. What should he do if something wasn’t right? What should he do if she needed help? He felt suddenly very young.

 

~*~*~

 

“We wait!” Curubrith met the eyes of the other elders. “Angband has fallen, she will come back. We wait for her.” The others changed looks. No one dared to say what they thought. ‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ Curubrith closed his eyes. She would come back! Nenwing, his beloved daughter, would return. He was sure of it. Curubrith rose. “I’ll search for her, she is near, I can feel it.”

He walked out of the camp, armed only with the sling that had given him his name. “Wait! Curubrith, you can’t go now!” Heluin, his best friend followed him. “Did you forget that we wanted to go to the Greenwood?” “I didn’t forget, but I won’t go there without Nenwing. I’ll find her, you’ll see.”

“At least let me come with you.” Heluin sighed. “You are unreasonable, Curubrith, but I would do the same if I were in your stead. I’m a father, too.” Curubrith gave his friend a thankful nod. No one stopped them when they left the camp. They ran west, where a black cloud darkened the sky.

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung held the sleeping woman, Nenwing, and her child in his arms. It was a boy, she had namend him Linqil. Mablung felt a soft melody that wasn’t coming from Mórhuin who stood on guard nearby. The child had to be part-Maia, he wondered who is father was – and if she knew.

He had wanted to be alone to mourn for Melkor but he couldn’t go now. He couldn’t leave her alone, that would be dishonourable. Nenwing moved in her sleep and whispered something that sounded like a name, but Mablung couldn’t make it out. His cloak had slid from her shoulder, Mablung pulled it back up and closed his eyes.

It was late and he was tired, the delivery had taken long. He hadn’t done much beside encourage her and hold her hand but he felt like he had worked in the mines all day. His muscles were knotted, one of his leg had went to sleep but he didn’t want to wake Nenwing to change his position.

 

They sat at the fire together and ate, the boy lay in a makeshift basket of willow branches, wrapped in Mablungs cloak. Nenwing had woven it the last week while Mablung had hunted for them. She was searching for her family, they would move on tomorrow, Nenwing felt strong enough. When Mablung had offered to come with her, she had been reluctant at first, as if she was frightened of him. Maybe she had been, but by now he had convinced her that he wasn’t dangerous.

Mablung had noticed that she didn’t talk about the circumstances that had separated her from her family. Even when he had told her that he had been a slave, she had said nothing. “You were a slave, weren’t you?”, he asked gently. Her eyes narrowed. “And if it were so?” “I only wondered if you know the father of your child. Was it one of the Maiar?” He knew that he walked on thin ice but her reaction surprised him regardless.

“Go! You can think of me what you want but I won’t let you talk ill of my child!” Mablung lowered his head. “If you want me to go, I will, but it wasn’t my intention to insult you or your child. I can feel the Ainur, I know that he has maia-blood. I don’t think ill of you, I was a slave myself. I know how it is to be abused. It is not your child’s fault that it was born in such times. It is lucky because it hasn’t to grow up in Angband.”

Nenwing looked at him for a long time, finally she answered: “His name was Carnlóme. I’m sorry that I snapped at you. When it became clear that I was pregnant, many of my ‘friends’ urged me to kill it before it became too obvious. But I couldn’t, I wanted to have him. How could I kill my little Linqil when he is all that remains of Carnlóme.” Mablung embraced her when she started to cry. Was she mourning, too?

“You talk of General Carnlóme, yes? I didn’t know him well. You sound as if you miss him.” “I do.” She sobbed. “I loved him and he loved me. I was only his slave because I couldn’t be free in Angband, he never treated me like one. He often talked of going away with me and now I’ll never see him again. When the Valar came he sent me away. I begged him to come with me but he said that they would hunt him. He didn’t want to endanger me. Linqil is a child of love, he wouldn’t have become a slave.”

Mablung hugged her silently and let her cry, he had to fight to keep his own tears back. After a while Nenwing whispered: “I’m sorry. Surely you can’t understand how I could fall in love with the enemy.” “I understand you, Nenwing, better than you know. I loved Melkor, too.” Mablung felt her tremble when he spoke his name.

“Against all reason. Although he could be so cruel, although he hurt me so many times... I don’t know how to live without him...” Mabung’s voice broke. “It feels good to not be alone with my feelings”, he croaked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to remind you.” Nenwing rubbed his back.

“It’s not your fault, I asked you. Every morning when I wake, I wait for him to wrap his arm around me and pull me close and when I realise that he’ll never lie beside me again I only want to die.” ‘Although death wouldn’t give me peace’, he thought. Mablung didn’t say it out loud, he didn’t want to tell her that he had killed one of her kin. Not until she asked.

 

Curubrith stared at the elf who embraced his Nenwing. And a child! He was grandfather – and he had a son-in-law. “Where did that one come from, do you think?”, Heluin whispered in his ear to not wake the small family. “Let’s ask him.” Curubrith nudged the elf with the tip of his boot. “Wake up!” The elf shot up and shrank back. The child was woken by the movement and started to cry. Nenwing sat up, blinking sleepily and cradled her child.

“Who are you?”, the elf asked, a hand on his knive. “I could ask you that”, Curubrith growled. “What did you do to my daughter?” Nenwing’s head whipped around at his words. “Father? You came for me?” She juped to her feet and threw herself at him, Curubrith embraced her and her child. “I hoped to find you after Angband fell. I’m so happy to see you!”

“I missed you, father!” She kissed him on both cheeks. “Don’t you want to introduce your husband? And what are you wearing?” It was common for the women of his people to wear trousers but the one’s she wore clearly belonged to a male. “Husband?” The elf stared at him. “My name is Mablung, but I’m not her husband, I...”

Curubrith didn’t let him finish. “You got her with child and hadn’t the honour to marry her? You damned...” Heluin grabbed his arms before he could assault Mablung. “Let him finish. If he were as bad as you think he wouldn’t be here, would he? Calm down!” Mablung thanked him with a nod. “What I was going to say is: I was in Angband, too. I found her in the woods, giving birth. I offered Nenwing to bring her home.”

“He saved me, father”, Nenwing chipped in. “I would have starved if he hadn’t hunted for me. And he let me ride on his horse. He can be trusted. Please, let him accompany us, he can’t go anywhere else.” Mablung looked at her startled, he hadn’t asked her to join her family. “Only if you want, of course”, she added in his direction. “I would be honoured. If your father agrees.”

Before he had met her, he had wanted to be alone, but now he realised, that to be alone meant that nothing would shield him from his memories. The idea of having a family again, warmed his heart. “That doesn’t explain where the child is coming from.” “He was a Maia, father, my Master”, Nenwing whispered with tears in her eyes. “Please, don’t ask.”

Curubrith looked at her sadly. “I understand... Let’s go home.” He offered Mablung his hand. “I’m Curubrith, this is Heluin. Thank you for the help you offered my daughter. Will you come with us, Mablung?” He nodded, he wouldn’t leave Nenwing alone. Her father didn’t understand, although he thought he did. Maybe that was why she had asked him to come, her heart was as injured as his.

 

Curubrith had taken Mablung aside and they had fallen back a little. The Nando looked nervously at him and he weighed his words carefully. He didn’t want to cross him if his suspicions proved to be wrong – and all the more if they proved right. “May I ask you something, Mablung?” “Go ahead.”

Mablung knew what would come now, he had feared it. It was hearable that Sindarin wasn’t his mother tongue. “You are a Noldo, aren’t you? Were you... I mean, have you...” He saw Curubrith’s hand wander to the hilt of his knive. “Yes, and yes.” Mablung gulped. “I’m a Noldo. I was there, at Alqualonde. I killed an elf. I don’t know his name but his face will haunt my dreams forever.”

He felt as young and helpless as back then. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. “What are you going to do with me, herdir?” “I’m old, Mablung. I was born at the shore of Cuiviénen, before our people divided. Never had I thought that there would come a time when elf killed elf. I can’t decide alone what will happen to you, but if you want to join us, you will have to face punishment.”

Mablung nodded. “I don’t know much about the Nandor. What do I have to expect?” “We aren’t a big tribe, seven families. The leaders, Heluin and me and the five other elders, will sit down with you. You will tell us what happened, we only know the story fragmentarily. You don’t have to fear corporal punishment. We want to go east and we don’t need an injured elf who’ll slow us down.

Your punishment might consist of work and we are going to watch you for a while, because we don’t know you. After we got an idea of your character, we will decide if you are allowed to stay with us.” Curubrith watched the Noldo closely. Those of his kin he had met, had looked down on the wood people, as if they were not much more than animals.

Much depended on how Mablung would behave towards them. “I’ll accept any punishment you might see fit.” Mablung bowed deeply. “I’m sure you’ll judge justly.” He straightened and Curubrith looked into his eyes. He saw pain and grief and helplessness. Contrary to his words, Mablung didn’t expect justness.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six

Melkor stumbled and not for the first time. They never took the blindfold from his eyes, even when they were on the march. They probably gloated at his helplessness. He couldn’t tell for sure, since he had left Angband, the Music was gone and he didn’t believe it would come back. He felt weak, his sore feet hurt with every step, they had been on the march for two weeks now. Two weeks in which he had walked barefoot beside a horse.

His foot collided with something solid, he lost his balance and fell to his knees. White pain shot up his legs. The iron collar around his neck cut into his skin when the rope tautened. “Stand up!” Namo yanked at the rope and Melkor hurried to regain his footing. Warm blood ran down his legs, his knees throbbed. He trembled with pain and exhaustion but he had no time to rest, he stumbled on.

It became colder each day, it had snowed last night, not much but enough to cover him with a white blanket. Winter was coming. He didn’t know how they had arrived here but he hoped for ships. He was afraid of having to cross the Helcaraxe. _Ice everywhere, it was so cold_ , he heard Mablung’s voice in his head.

He hadn’t understood then. He had crossed the ice himself and it hadn’t harmed him, but now that his power didn’t shield him against the cold of the coming winter... His body was going to freeze to death. Did they know? Could they see that his body and his Being were one? Melkor felt a sob rise in his chest. He had lost everything, even himself.

 

An icy gush of water woke him from an uneasy sleep. He gasped, the water was so cold that he couldn’t breathe, his teeth started to chatter. He trembled so hard it hurt. Someone pulled him to his feet and dragged him away. Melkor was pushed to the floor beside a fire. He sobbed when the warmth engulfed him, it felt so good, almost unbearable after the coldness outside.

“Good evening, traitor.” A shiver ran down his spine when he recognised Namo’s voice. He curled up whimpering. Not again! “He’s tolerably clean at least.” Melkor flinched. No, that couldn’t be. “Stand up, traitor.” Melkor stayed on the floor. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t. He had thought, Namo did this without Manwe’s knowledge, but he knew. He agreed, he wanted it!

Lashes bit his injured skin, the slap was almost tentative. Mablung knew that this hadn’t been Namo. He felt something break inside him and he realised that he had hoped until know. The hope that his brother would forgive him and take him back. That it could be like before. Manwe had never given him up, even when they had sentenced him the first time, there had been so much pain in his eyes.

Melkor hadn’t seen it then. He had been so eaten up with wrath and hatred and now it was too late. Hatred had taken the place of pain, he should have known it. His brother had given up on him, he was completely alone. The pain hit him. He was worthless. The Valar wouldn’t be easy on him as they had been the last time because they hoped he would repent.

They would vent their anger on him and when they were finished, they would forget him, somewhere in a dark dungeon. His strength broke to pieces. There was nothing that held it together anymore, he had lost everything. Melkor staggered to his feet. He couldn’t defy them any longer. He thought of the slaves, so many souls he had broken, had they felt like this? Mablung... He sobbed.

 

Aule lifted the flap and looked inside, he realised immediately that he had chosen a bad moment. He had wanted to give Namo the keys to Melkor’s chains, he had asked for them. Now he stood in the entrance of the tent and stared at his brothers. Melkor knelt on the floor, Namo fucked him hard and Manwe had buried his hand in Melkor’s hair and thrust into his mouth.

Aule saw the tears on Melkor’s cheeks, heard his despair, it kindled a pain deep inside him. He didn’t know how long he stood there, frozen in shock, until they noticed him. Manwe lifted his face and looked at him, the coldness in his eyes, the hatred that was almost corporeal, terrified Aule, he ran. _There’s only a narrow line between justice and cruelty_ , Mo had said.

Aule stumbled to the stream that flowed next to the camp and splashed his face with water to get his head clear. This wasn’t right, it just wasn’t. Melkor deserved punishment, but if they paid like with like they weren’t better than him. He had never liked Melkor, had watched him with distrust when they had given him a second chance and everything that had happened, had proven him right.

Melkor had seduced many of his Maiar away from him. No, he had no friendly feelings for him, but this... Aule gulped, he had never seen Manwe like this. He was Goodness personified, sometimes Aule thought him too good, too lenient. It looked like he had decided to make an exception in Melkor’s case. And Namo was the Judge, he should know wrong from right. Aule shouldn’t presume to doubt them.

But what they did there was rape. It didn’t make it less wrong that they used it as punishment and Aule had the disquieting feeling that they liked it far too much. Regardless of what he thought of Melkor, he mustn’t let them do this. But Manwe was his friend and his king, he had vowed to follow him. “Oh Eru, what am I to do?”, he whispered. “Do what you feel is the right thing to do”, his father would have said. Aule sighed, his thoughts were in an uproar, he couldn’t decide now, he was too shaken.

If he confronted Manwe and Namo now this whole thing could get out of control. But he had to talk to them, for their own good. If a friend went the wrong way, you had to tell him. ‘Yes, and we know how well that worked with Melkor.’ It was better to sleep a night over it. It was already dark but he walked aimlessly through the camp. He couldn’t go back to his tent where Mormirion waited for him.

The Maia treated him with respect, but Aule was aware that his heart belonged to Melkor. He would lose him if he heard what they did to Melkor. He watched the shivering prisoner from the shadow of the tents. If he hadn’t just witnessed that he had been raped, he wouldn’t have cared. Melkor hadn’t cared about his slaves either. He was still angry with him and he despised him, but the unbridled rage that he had felt not long before, was gone.

Aule sighed, something that felt suspiciously like pity rose in him. He walked gingerly through the mud and crouched down beside Melkor. He winced when Aule touched his shoulder. “Can you walk?” Aule took his arm und pulled him up. “I think so, herdir”, Melkor whimpered.

Herdir... since when did Melkor call anyone of them that? His voice was dull and his hopelessness hurt Aule. He wished he couldn’t hear it, but he couldn’t fight it. Finally Melkor stood on trembling legs. Aule still held him, Melkor would just fall over again if he let go. “Come.” Aule led him slowly to his tent.

 

Melkor was afraid. Every step hurt, his lips were sore. And now Aule. He hadn’t any strength left. Not today, after Manwe... He sobbed, he longed to curl up and succumb to the pain but that wasn’t possible. He could only obey and hope that Aule would be merciful. Again his thoughts wandered to Mablung.

How often had he acted as if he didn’t see that the elf hurt so much he was almost unable to stand? No, he deserved this and much more, he knew – and his brothers knew, too. He had no right to lament. He wouldn’t beg for a mercy he didn’t deserve. Aule’s hands pushed down on his shoulders. “Sit down”, he ordered.

 

Mo stared at Aule when he came in with Melkor. Aule met his gaze. “I contemplated your words”, he said. “Heat water, we need to clean him up first.” “Yes, herdir.” Mo fetched a pot and hurried outside to the stream. Finally he could do something, even if it was not much. He hurried so much to get back to the tent, that he doused himself with cold water, but he didn’t care.

Melkor looked miserable. He was dirty and bloody and trembled violently. Mo didn’t know, if it was fear or coldness or both. A few days ago he had been a proud, strong ruler, there was nothing left of that. Mo could feel that he had given up. It was as if someone had pushed a dagger into his heart. Melkor had always been so unstoppable, like a force of nature.

He heated the water with a little struggle. Aule handed him a clean cloth and he started to wash Melkor gently. Melkor didn’t move. Mo dabbed the dirt from his bruised knees and feet, his ankles and wrists were sore where the cuffs chafed. His skin was icy cold, Mo shivered. Was it so bad that he couldn’t defend himself against the cold?

“Please, herdir, allow me to take off the blindfold”, he begged. He didn’t know how far Aules mercy would go. Why did he do this anyway? Aule nodded after a moment of hesitation. “Thank you.” Mo turned to Melkor again. “Close your eyes, ar...” Mo swallowed the word. He couldn’t call him his king in Aule’s presence. “The light will dazzle you, herdir, close your eyes.”

Melkor squinted, his eyes were red. He looked so tired, so helpless and lost. Mo embraced him tight. “Mo, how are you?”, Melkor croaked. His gaze shot to Aule. “I’m treated well, herdir.” “And the others?” Mo shrugged. He hadn’t been able to talk to them since Aule had taken him in. “I don’t know, herdir.” He didn’t say that Sauron had been able to flee, the memory would make Aule angry.

“I’m going to wash your back, herdir”, Mo warned him. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared, most of the lashes weren’t bloody but the skin would be sensitive nonetheless. Melkor’s shoulders tensed when he washed away blood and mud. “Have you...”, he cleared his throat and started again. “Have you seen Mablung?” Mo stopped surprised. “No, herdir. He was gone when we searched for you. What did you do with him?”

“I let him go, before I... left.” The shackles clinked when Melkor lifted his hand and rubbed his eyes. “It would be good to know that he is well.” ‘Oh, herdir.’ Mo laid his hand on Melkor’s shoulder. “I’m sure he is all right. You know how unbreakable he is.” He gazed at Aule and bit back his question. Had he told him, before he let him go? That didn’t concern Aule, he wasn’t sure if it concerned _him_.

Melkor’s shoulders shook. “I was so foolish”, he whispered. “Blind and stupid and now it is too late.” Mo closed his eyes when Melkor’s grief flooded him. He had watched them, all these years, hiding their feelings from each other and from himself in Melkor’s case. Could he have done something? No, he would have only endangered Mablung. Mo blinked to stop his tears and returned his attention to Melkor’s back.

Melkor still healed faster than the average elf but the mud hadn’t done any good to the wounds. Mo turned to Aule and opened his mouth to talk to him, when he realised that he had called Melkor ‘herdir’ the whole time, he couldn’t... “Mahal”, he finally said, hoping that his thoughtlessness hadn’t angered him. “Do you have something to treat the wounds?” Aule nodded slowly and gave him a salve box. “Try this.”

Mo dabbed the salve gently on the bloody lashes and applied it to his knees. “Thank you, Mo”, Melkor said softly. Mo smiled sadly, he would have gladly done more. Aule who, to Mo’s surprise, had watched them the whole time, helped Melkor to his feet. Mo shivered when Aule led Melkor to the bed. Was he going to take him now? Mo clenched his fists. He stood frozen in place and had to watch helplessly.

Mo saw how tense Melkor was, when he laid down, he knew, too, what would happen. Aule reached out and caressed Melkor’s hair. “Sleep, brother. I didn’t bring you here to abuse you.” Aule started to hum a lullaby. Mo’s tears ran down his cheeks. Aule was such a wonderful person. Mo had thought that respect would be all that he would be able to feel for him, but now that he saw that he had mercy even for Melkor, he could feel that this might be the beginning of more.

Aule turned around and paused when he saw him cry. “What’s wrong?”, he asked. “Thank you, herdir”, Mo sniffled and was caught off guard when Aule gently wiped the tears from his cheeks. “For your mercy. How can I ever repay you?” Aule had done so much for him, Aule had listened to him and forgiven him and now he helped Melkor. It was time that he gave him something in return.

He hugged his Master and kissed him, guided his hand between his legs. At first, Aule returned the kiss, the hand cupped him gently, Mo moaned, but then Aule moved back and looked gravely at him. “Why are you doing this?”, he asked. Mo wanted to turn his head, his cheeks burned, but Aule didn’t let him. “Look at me, little brother.” Mo swallowed hard. No one had called him that in a long time.

“You are so good to me, more than I deserve, and you are kind to Melkor. I wanted to thank you, the only way that I’m able to.” Aule caressed his cheeks. “I can’t deny that I sometimes take one of my people to my bed. You know that. But I only do it when I can be sure that they don’t do it out of a sense of obligation. I can’t be sure of that now, you are much too dependent on my goodwill. I don’t want you to do this because you think you have to. I’m not like that.”

Mo nodded, he understood. “I’m sorry, herdir, I didn’t want to push you.” “I know. I think you forget sometimes that I’m not Melkor.” Aule gazed at the sleeping Vala. “He would have taken you up on your offer, wouldn’t he?” “Yes, he wouldn’t have needed a second invitation.”

“I thought so.” Aule shook his head. “Can you tell me, who Mablung is?” Mo hesitated. Shouldn’t Melkor be allowed to keep at least one secret? “He was Melkor’s slave, a Noldo.” “Oh?” Aule gave him a look that told Mo clearly that he knew that he held something back. “Let us go to bed, Mormirion.”

 

They had reached the sea, Melkor could hear the waves on the shore and tasted the salt in the wind. He limped over a swaying deck, the wood of the planks rough under his sore feet, down a stair, a door was locked behind him and he was alone. Melkor leaned against the wall and let himself slide to the floor, he was completely exhausted. He hadn’t to walk any longer at least, his feet hurt and he was cold, so cold.

He didn’t know where this coldness came from, he had never been cold before. He curled up shivering, the movement pulling on the lashes on his back. He was tired but the pain didn’t let him sleep. How had Mablung been able to bear this? How had he slept despite the pain? Melkor sobbed, a tear ran down his cheek. It hurt so much to think of Mablung.

Why hadn’t he realised earlier that he loved him? But to what use? Mablung hated him. Surely he would testify against him. That was what he was terrified of the most, to see him at his trial. He heard steps and begged silently for them to pass his cell, but his plea wasn’t heard. A key was turned in the lock and the door pushed open. Aule took his blindfold off and started to spread a salve on his wounds.

Melkor was relieved. Aule had allowed Mormirion to tend him a little, he wouldn’t hurt him. Melkor didn’t know what his brother thought, he was deaf. It was a mystery to him how the elves managed to understand each other without hearing. How was he to live like this, cut off from the Music?

“Thank you, herdir”, he said softly when Aule stood up. Aule gazed at him with a look of pity, then he left and took the lamp with him. Melkor remained in total darkness. He could hear the waves through the ship’s side. Melkor’s breath quickened, he was suddenly coated in cold sweat. He couldn’t swim and now he was under the waterline. The darkness made him feel as if the sea could flow in any moment and engulf him.

 

Mo breathed in the moist, salty sea air. Aule had left him for the moment, but he intended to wait here, where he had left him. He had been able to change a few words with Sharû yesterday and had learned that the “Angband-Elves”, as Aule called the former slaves, took care that they were treated decently – although it wasn’t easy for them either. Sharû had become angry when he told him how some Vanyar treated the elves.

“Mo!” Mo turned  when his name was called and found himself embraced. “You are all right! I was so frightened for you!” Mo closed his eyes and cried, it was all too much at the moment. Silwen petted his hair. “I know, big brother, I know.” Mo sobbed, it made it even harder to recover to be called brother by her. “Silwen.” He closed his arms tightly around her. “How are you and the others?”

“Don’t worry about us. They don’t know exactly what to think of Garam, Lantelen I should say.” Silwen giggled and Mo couldn’t help but chuckle, despite everything. “So you are treated well?” Silwen nodded. “Of course. And you, how are you?” She caressed his cheek and Mo’s throat tightened again. “Aule is more kind to me than I thought he would be.”

“I heard that you freed the slaves.” Silwen looked at him tenderly. “I wasn’t surprised. Everyone who knows you just a little, knows that you have a good heart.” Mo opened his mouth but didn’t answer because he felt that Aule came back. “You know Silwen, Mormirion?” “Yes, we... were married for a time”, he felt himself blush, “before she met Garam.” Aule looked surprised. “How so?”

“Atya thought, Mo could protect me better than him”, Silwen answered. Aule lifted his eyebrows. “That sounds like a story I would want to hear. May I invite you to dinner today, Silwen?” “Only if Garam is invited too.” Mo stared at Silwen. That she would dare to talk to a Vala like that... He anticipated Aule to rebuke her but his Master only nodded. “Of course. Come, Mormirion, it is time to go on board.” Mo looked around one more time when he stepped on the deck, Silwen waved at him smiling. He waved back, happy that she seemed to be so comfortable here.

 

Mo sat on the floor in front of Aule’s bunk and readied his bed. Aule didn’t let him out of his sight, not even at night. Mo didn’t know exactly what to think of his behaviour but if he did it because he had forgiven him and wanted to help him, he was glad. He didn’t mind to sleep on the floor. He knew that he was save here, more than anywhere else on the ship. “Can I continue to help Melkor a little? Bring him food?”

Aule nodded. “But don’t get caught. I won’t protect you from punishment if you are seen.” “Yes, herdir. Thank you.” Mo was happy for what he was allowed to do. Aule overlooked that he still cared for Melkor, that was more than he could hope for. “He does need it, doesn’t he?”, Aule said. “If he doesn’t eat, he starves.”

Mo nodded crestfallen. “If you wear a body for that long...” He looked at his own hands. “Someday you’ll realise that it stopped being just a shroud. You are one with your body. I can feel it myself, it isn’t as bad as Melkor’s condition, but it is there.” Aule patted his shoulder. “I’m sure that we can reverse it. We’ll find a way.”

We... Mo smiled at Aule. Was it really “we” again? Although he hadn’t even been judged yet? “Thank you, herdir”, he said softly. Aule shook his head. “You don’t have to thank me all the time, Mormirion. I have to be on deck now. Stay here.”

 

Mo was on his way to Melkor, he had his dinner with him, the bowl warmed his hands. He stopped suddenly when he saw that the door to Melkor’s cell was open. Only a handful of people had a key to that door. He carried Aule’s with him, unofficially. Officially, Aule would tell that he had stolen it from him if he was caught. Melkor’s pain was like a white-hot iron on his soul.

Mo gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain silent. He crept closer and felt a cold fist close around his heart when he saw what Namo was doing. He forced down his hatred with difficulty, the Vala would notice him if he felt too much. The only reason why he hadn’t already noticed him, was that he was so occupied with Melkor.

Mo turned around and walked away. Melkor’s pain followed him up the stairs. He clenched his fist, how much he wished that he were able to do something. They talked so nobly but they weren’t better than Melkor. Melkor deserved punishment, but not like this! Mo felt angry tears run down his cheeks. Did Aule know? Possibly. They didn’t hide anything from each other. Did he overlook it, did he approve of it? Mo walked home.

 

Melkor’s screams where muffled, he had a gag in his mouth. I hurt so much, every thrust sent white pain through his body. He wanted to get out of here, away from this, but Namo’s fingers dug into his skin and he couldn’t run anywhere. He pressed his forehead against the rough floor. Tears ran down his cheeks. Namo gripped his hair and pulled on it until Melkor arced his back.

He sobbed, when Namo’s thrusts became faster. What had he told Mablung, in the beginning? _You should have gotten used to this by now?_ How should one ever get used to something like this? He wished, he had been more gentle. He wished, he had been more just, he wouldn’t have to tell himself now, that he deserved this, if he had been. It hurt so much! How had Mablung been able to bear this so long?

 

“Did you know?” Mormirion looked accusingly at Aule, he could feel his turmoil – more than that, he was angry. “What did I know?” Aule wondered what had upset him so. “Namo rapes Melkor. I saw him!” “Has he seen you?” Aule felt a shiver run down his spine. If Namo had seen Mormirion in a place he had no business to be, his sentence would be more severe. “I don’t think so, I hope not.” Mormirion’s eyes burned. “Don’t avoid my question!”

“Yes, I knew.” He shouldn’t have found out, it made everything harder. “Why don’t you do anything!” Mormirion almost screamed and now there was more pain than anger. Melkor meant much to him. Aule shook his head. “I can’t do anything! I don’t think it’s right, but Manwe backs Namo. Believe me, I would rather it were otherwise.” He held out his hand but Mormirion pushed it away and ran up on deck.

Aule followed him slowly. He didn’t want to have this conversation now. He didn’t want to lose Mormirion, when he wasn’t even sure if he had him back. Mormirion stood at the bulwark, the cold wind in his face. Aule saw tears on his cheeks. The anger had subsided, there was only pain. What Namo did was wrong. No one should suffer like this, not even Melkor. Mormirion started when Aule laid his hand on his shoulder.

“I can understand your grief, but you can’t change Melkor’s fate.” “And so I should forget him? I swore loyalty to him and even if that weren’t...” Mo shook his head, unable to explain his feelings. He had not been close to Melkor, not like Sinthoras, but he had cared about him. He had been more to him than his king. And there was the things Sauron had done to him, too. He knew how it was to be raped. He knew, how Melkor felt now. “I can’t simply ban him from my heart.”

Aule sighed heavily. “I know and I accept it. I only mean that you should accept that you can’t help him. And you swore loyalty to me, too.” Mo nodded und rubbed his heyes. “Yes, herdir, please forgive me. It is kind of you to look after me and I’m very grateful.” “But you don’t love me like you love him.” Aule leaned against the railing beside him and looked at him. “Isn’t that what you mean?”

Mo bit his lip. “When I joined you, I wanted to serve only you, I knew that it was right.” Mo looked up to Aule and tried to find the feelings he had had for him. Then he had believed that nothing could make him betray Aule. But he had betrayed him and he had felt as if he belonged to Melkor. No he belonged to no one. Melkor would never have power again and the feelings for Aule were gone.

‘Maybe I’m just not worthy to serve him anymore’, he thought. He wished so much to belong to him again. But maybe he couldn’t because he still clung to Melkor. You couldn’t serve two Masters.

Aule felt the turmoil in Mormirion. Surely he wished to be with Melkor. He had once belonged with him but now he belonged to Melkor. Aule hoped that he would find back to him but he understood now, that it wouldn’t be easy nor fast, if it were possible at all. Aule embraced Mormirion.

He liked the Maia, the manner of his return had impressed him and he had learned much about him in the meantime – more good than bad. The way he treated Silwen spoke a plain language, too. She had lived a more privileged life than the slaves, of course, but had Mormirion treated her cruelly she wouldn’t have been able to hide it from Aule. He wanted to save Mormirion, he deserved it to be saved. And Mormirion would be forced to serve him, either way, he’d rather he did it gladly.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Silwen stood at the prow, the spray hit her face, the wind let her hair whip like a flag. It was a wonderful feeling. She liked it here, although Garam still got wary glances. After they had run from Angband – as always, to think of Sinthoras made her heart hurt – they had turned to the home of her mother, but they hadn’t been welcome there.

They had anticipated to meet difficulties because of Garam, but that they would be chased away because they had been slaves... Her mother had been heartbroken. Silwen clenched her fists at the memory. After that they had stayed away from elves, that wasn’t hard, Beleriand was big and thinly populated.

Only when Silwen had felt the arrival of the Valar, they had dared to meet with people again. And what a feeling that had been! Nothing had prepared her for meeting the Powers. “An unusual occupation for fire.” Silwen realised that she had shaped the spray to figures, as her father had done with flames, when he was lost in thought. That had been the first thing he had taught her.

She turned to Aule. “I’m Elda, too. The sea is...” Silwen made a helpless gesture and finally laid her hand on her heart. “It touches me here.” She sang the first tunes of a lullaby her mother had sung for her when she was little. She noticed something else. “Why do you hide from me?” She should have heard him coming, but all that suggested that he was more than an elf was a subtle vibration in his melody.

Aule smiled at her. “I don’t hide. I only thought that it might be easier for you to concentrate on what I say.” Silwen pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “It is... distracting”, she admitted. She had believed to be used to it, she had been around Sinthoras and Mo all the time, after all, but the presence of a Vala was so much more overwhelming. Aule differed from Mo as her father had differed from Galathil.

“Have you decided yet what you want to do, when we reach Aman?” “That depends on your decision concerning Garam.” Silwen shrugged. “I don’t think you have to worry for your husband. We have a ship full of orcs who are like him. I, for my part, consider your husband an elf. My body is only clothing, I know that it isn’t the looks that matter. You are fire, I’d be happy if I could help you.”

Silwen cocked her head. Was he asking if she wanted to enter his service? She hadn’t thought about it, but she _was_ half Ainu. “I’m not a smith”, she said slowly while she considered the though. She didn’t know enough about Aman to understand what that would mean. “And I’m not just the Smith, although the elves think of that first when they talk of me. I’m a craftsman, I give shape to things. You are a tailor, a good one if Mormirion is to be believed.”

Silwen felt herself blush. “He said that?” She shook off her embarrassment. “I don’t quite understand what it would mean, if I take you up on your offer.” “It would mean, that you are a Maia beyond doubt, my Maia, no elf would dare to question your choice of husband. You could learn from your siblings, you only scratched on the surface of what you are, until now.”

It would be nice to know that there was a place where she could go. A place where she was welcome. But she didn’t understand why Aule was so interested in her. “What’s...” She swallowed the rest of the sentence. ‘What’s in for you?’, didn’t sound very polite. She didn’t want to imply that he had ulterior motives. Aule smiled at her in a way that said, he knew what she thought. Silwen held his gaze. Well, let him!

“I’d win a skilled craftswoman.” “But what would I have to do as your servant?” “Have to do?” Aule frowned. “You wouldn’t ‘have to do’ anything.” His eyes became soft. “I’m not Melkor, Silwen. I don’t ask absolute submission of you. You could pursue your own projects.” “I still don’t see what this does for you.” Silwen still searched for the snag. There had to be a snag!

Aule touched her cheek. “I can’t explain it, Silwen. How does a Maia know, which Vala he or she belongs with? It is right, I feel it. Don’t you?” He let the veil, that hid his Being, fall. Silwen breathed deeply and closed his eyes. It was easier for her to concentrate only on the Music, this way. She could see the notes in the darkness of her closed lids, it had been always like that. A part of her began to design an robe for Aule but she pushed that aside – later.

_It is right_... was it? She listened to Aule’s music, the tunes like a bassoon that resonated deep inside her, and let herself drift. He wasn’t only the Smith, he was an inventor, a thinker, a creator... No, not a creator, that was only the One, he had said it himself: he gave shape to things, whether it was metal or stone or language. The longer she listened, the more a feeling grew in her... a love she didn’t completely understand.

She didn’t know Aule and still there was this love, a love not unlike the one she had felt for her father. Silwen opened her eyes and stepped back. “I have to think about this”, she said a little confused. “Of course.” Aule nodded. “I won’t rush you. May I ask you for something else?” Only now she saw the tube of dark leather he held in his hand. “This are Mormirion’s flutes. He won’t get them back anytime soon. I think he would be relieved if he knew that you take care of them.”

Silwen took the instruments. “I’ll care for them as if they were my own.” A new thought came to her. “You are doing this for Mo!” Aule shrugged, a little sheepishly. “You mean a lot to him. He will have to serve me, I want him to see that I’m not a bad Master. Has he told you...” “Why he left you? Yes.” Silwen looked Aule over. “I always thought it a little foolish, but I grew up in Angband.”

 

The creaking door rose Melkor from an uneasy sleep. He was in an unused cellar room in Ilmaren. “Stand up!” Two Maiar pulled him roughly upright. His legs shook, it almost was impossible to remain standing. They blindfolded him again and led him from his cell. Every step hurt, Namo had visited him often. He was just glad that Manwe hadn’t again.

The Maiar carried him more than he walked through Ilmaren and down the mountain. When they finally pushed him to his knees, he was drenched in sweat. Lightning flashed before his eyes, he feared for a moment that he would topple over. Melkor gritted his teeth and steadied himself. “Do you want to say something to us, Melkor?” He winced at Manwe’s words.

They gave him opportunity to speak? He hadn’t anticipated that. He could have said many things now, he could have tried to explain his motives, he could have exposed Manwe by revealing their sexual relationship, but he didn’t do it. They wouldn’t believe anything he said, they would not understand him. “Only one thing: I know that I have done unforgivable things and that I deserve every punishment you inflict on me. I hope that you can forgive me sometime, but I don’t believe it, I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“If that is all... Let the witnesses come forth.” The next hours brought Melkor near a meltdown. Elves came and went, told of their experiences with him. Not only brought it his deeds vividly to his mind and he hated himself more each  moment, but each time when a witness was called, he dreaded to hear Mablung’s voice. He feared it, he didn’t want to hear what Mablung thought of him.

But Mablung didn’t come, instead he recognised with horror the story one of the elves told. “I was still a child when I was chosen to serve at a feast. The other slaves there tried to hide me, so the Masters wouldn’t see me, but one of the orcs spotted me. He almost raped me there but I fought and Melkor became aware of the commotion. He saved me.” It was Laiglas – and he had the courage to speak in his favour.

‘Oh, nethben...’ Melkor could have told him that it was futile. It became silent after Laiglas’ testimony, he was the last witness. Why hadn’t Mablung testified against him? He, who had been his slave for the longest time. His name had come up a few times, the Valar couldn’t have overlooked him. Maybe he was so hurt that he couldn’t talk about it, maybe he didn’t want to see him.

“Hear now your sentence.” He straightened when Namo raised his voice. “Melkor, you betrayed us all and brought evil to the world you swore to protect. We can never trust you again. We sentence you to eternal imprisonment in Mandos.” “Moreover, Namo has free reign to punish you further”, Manwe added. Melkor whimpered, he knew what that meant: eternal torture.

 

Mo knelt on the grass, his gaze lowered. His heart raced and his hands were sweaty. It was time for his trial and he was frightened. Aule had promised to advocate for him, Silwen had burned with conviction and assured him that all would be well, but he knew what he had done. He didn’t deserve to be treated mercifully.

Mo answered the questions they asked him with steady voice. He had told all this already to Aule, he didn’t have to think about his answers. “If you have no more questions for Mormirion, we will hear the witnesses now”, Manwe said finally. Mos heart clenched at the words. Pictures flickered in his mind. He heard the screams, their begging. How bad must it be for them to have to remember this in his presence.

“Please”, he said. “I will tell you everything you want to know, but don’t force these men to testify. They shouldn’t have to live through this again.” Aule nodded appreciatively. “We will confer.” Mo couldn’t make out what Manwe thought. There was a commotion in the crowd. “I won’t be kept from making my testimony”, Ecthelion said and stepped to Mo’s side.

Mo looked up at him. He looked better than on the day they had fled. He wore a sword, Mo’s sword, and fine clothes and held himself very straight. If it hadn’t been for the burns on his face, no one would have assumed that this man had been a slave just a few weeks ago. “I hear how Mormirion speaks of himself and I can’t avoid the impression that he thinks worse of himself than most of the slaves.” “Ecthelion, I haven’t allowed you to speak.” Manwe smiled. “But as you are a witness I call you now.”

Ecthelion bowed. “Thank you, Aran Einior. I wasn’t as long in Angband as many others and I was lucky that I hadn’t dealings with the generals – apart from Mormirion, Asea Mahan, as we called him. Every slave knew that it was thanks to him, when our rations were increased. And every slave knew that you could bring heavily injured comrades to him without having to pay. I owe my life to him.” Ecthelion touched his cheek. “I wouldn’t have survived this burns without his help.”

Mo listened as the elf told of their escape and how he had helped them. He didn’t know what to think. Why did he do this for him? “Thank you”, Manwe finally said. “We’ll accept Mormirion’s request to not force the witnesses to testify, but all of them who want to speak, can do so of course.” Mo had tears of emotion in his eyes when many former slaves stepped into the Mahanaxar and told how he had healed them. Did they know what this could mean for him? He didn’t deserve this.

Finally Namo stood up and came to him. “Now show me your memories.” Mo shivered, it would hurt. It was a painful process even when you allowed it. Mo looked the Vala in the eye and nodded, he was ready. His head felt as if a giant hand squeezed it, he moaned softly. He had no longer control over his thoughts, could only watch helplessly as Namo searched his memories. He saw, what the Vala looked at, felt his emotions from then. His head hurt so badly, he felt as if it would burst any moment.

“I’ve seen enough.” Mo swayed when Namo pulled back. He felt sick and closed his eyes, he didn’t want to vomit over Namos feet. They counselled again, he could feel it, but their emotions remained hidden to him. Only Aule let him feel his approval. What had he thought? That he would allow that the men he had raped were forced to remember it? It took a long time until they found a decision, Mo didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign, but he was glad for the rest. It allowed him to get his senses together again.

“Namo will pass sentence now.” Manwe’s voice was gentle, but that didn’t mean anything, Manwe was always kind. “Mormirion Aulendil”, Mo winced when he was called that, “we are convinced that you regret your deeds. You spared your victims from having to testify, we give you great credit for this. It also reflects well on you that so many former slaves are ready to speak for you. Aule is willing to give you the opportunity to prove yourself. Do you take this opportunity?”

“I do.” Mo’s voice was hoarse. “I’m thankful for it.” “However, your deeds demand punishment. We sentence you to fifty lashes and one hundred years of house arrest. You won’t have a rank in this time and will only do base work.” “Thank you, heruvinya. I won’t betray your trust again.” His punishment was lenient. He didn’t know if he liked it, he deserved to suffer, didn’t he?

He looked at Namo. He was the Judge, he knew what was just – but he had seen him rape Melkor. Mo shivered frightened. Namo had read his thoughts, had he seen this, too? Namo didn’t reveal if he did know. “Take off your shirt”, he said. “You will get your punishment immediately.” Mo was calm when he opened the buttons. He had been beaten worse, Namo knew that.

He heard the crowd muter when he exposed his back. The elves in the first rows had to see the scars from former whippings. “Choose.” Namo held two whips out to him. He knew them, they came from his collection... no, it only were images of them. Mo touched the whip he had always used for severe punishment, when a slave had really angered him, without hesitation. It would draw blood but that was the way it should be. He wouldn’t duck out. “So be it.” Namo’s voice was void of emotion, Mo couldn’t begin to guess what he thought.

 

Aule helped him to his feet, Mo clung to the steadying hand, his knees trembled. ‘You did well, little brother.’ Aule was proud of him. Mo smiled tiredly, his back was glowing pain, his trousers wet with blood. Aule led him slowly down the mountain. They were stared at, Mo realised vaguely, but he couldn’t care less. He had to lie down, soon, or he would faint, blackness danced at the edges of his vision.

Aule seemed to have noticed how bad he felt and pulled his arm across his shoulders, Mo leaned heavily against him. He didn’t know where they went, he just concentrated on setting one foot in front of the other. “I can carry you”, Aule murmured. Mo shook his head. How he managed to get to Aule’s house and into his bed was a mystery to him.

He was drenched in sweat that stung his wounds and almost unconscious, so it took a while until he noticed who tended to his back. “Mistress?” Yavanna laid her hand on his neck to stop him from turning around. “Lie down, Mormirion, and don’t move.” Mo obeyed, amazed at how high in Aule’s favour he had to be that he had asked her to tend to him. He closed his eyes, exhausted.

 

Melkor moaned when Aule linked his collar to a short chain that forced him to bend his legs and lay his head on his knees. His back hurt already. He winced when Aule moved against his soul, he could still feel this at least, but his brother didn’t force entry. Melkor opened himself. ‘Why did you yield?’ Melkor closed his eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’ ‘I’m just curious. We thought you would fight to the last.’

‘Mablung, he was my slave. I love him. I couldn’t...’ Melkor shook his head. ‘If the war had continued, I would have killed him in my wrath. And I finally understood that Angband didn’t mean anything to me without him.’ He didn’t know why he told Aule. Aule didn’t answer, Melkor didn't understand why he had helped him. It had to be Mo, he wanted to win him back with being kind to him. It wouldn’t be hard, Mo had long ago started to question his actions.

Aule threw Namo the keys to his chains and left them with a last, unreadable look in Melkor’s direction. Melkor wanted him to stay, he didn’t want to be alone with Namo. Namo unshackled him and pulled him to his feet. Melkor stumbled when Namo pushed him and chained him to the wall, his eyes were cold. “You will suffer, traitor”, Namo growled while pushing an iron rod into a brazier. Melkor’s heart raced.

“You will suffer as the people in your dungeons suffered. Many of them came to me, don’t expect me to be merciful.” Melkor screamed when the glowing iron touched his back. “It’s only the beginning, traitor.” Melkor leaned his forehead against the wall and conjured up an image Mablung, he had only borne the last weeks that way.

Mablung’s hair was long and moved in the wind, he smiled at him. They sat on green grass and let the sun warm their skin. Mablung held his hand and whispered: “I love you.” Melkor shut his eyes tight and sobbed. He had been such a fool. The pain assaulted him again. Namo had exchanged the branding iron for a whip.

Melkor felt – heard – his skin break. The sound made him sick. Why had he never noticed how awful it sounded? He was close to fainting when Namo turned him around and pushed his bloody back against the rough stone wall. “Do you remember Sinthoras, traitor?” Namo dragged the tip of a knife down his chest. “Yes, herdir.” Namo smiled cruelly and nicked the skin of his nipple with the knife. Melkor sobbed, he knew what was coming.

 

Melkor sat exhausted on the floor. Namo had chained him again like Aule had left him. Blood ran from the wounds on his chest, the bowed position pulled on the lashes and burns on his back. He felt awful but he knew that this had been only the beginning. How should he ever bear this? But maybe he shouldn’t, maybe they wanted him to die. Melkor sobbed. He longed for all this to stop. ‘Help me, father, please.’ But his father didn’t answer. He was alone, as he had always been.

 

~*~*~

 

_He was frozen in fear, around him elf fought against elf, the ring of the swords was loud in the air. Glorfindel protected him as well as he could. Why did this happen? They couldn’t fight against their brothers! Mablung saw a motion from the corner of his eye. Glorfindel fought another elf, he didn’t see the Teler coming. Mablung drew his dagger without thinking and stabbed him. Warm blood ran over his hand. He stumbled back._

_The elf had fallen on his knees and stared at him with a face contorted in pain. Blood flowed from the wound in his belly. What had he done? “I’m sorry”, he whispered. “I’m so sorry!” He had only wanted to protect Glorfindel. Hot tears ran down Mablung’s cheeks. Then Glorfindel was at his side and pulled him away, away from the fight. Mablung stumbled alongside him without knowing where they went, he didn’t care. He barely remembered the march along the dark coast. Only Namo’s Prophesy – that he remembered clearly._

Mablung trembled violently, the memory was overwhelming. He did barely notice how the elders of Nenwing’s people talked about him. He wouldn’t have understood much anyway. They made an effort to speak slowly when they talked to him, but these Nandor spoke a dialect that he barely understood. He didn’t expect them to be lenient, he didn’t deserve it. He was a Noldo and a murderer.

Curubrith stood up. Mablung had soon realised that he was their leader. “We have decided what to do with you, if you want to stay with us, you’ll have to accept.” “I will.” Mablung bowed his head. Where else should he go? His heart hurt so much, when he thought of Melkor. He just wanted to curl up somewhere and never stand up again, but when he was with Nenwing and the little Linqil his grief lessened.

“We could use another pair of hands. As the arrogance of your people led to this terrible disaster, we will teach you humility. You will serve the family and do whatever is asked of you.” Mablung bowed deeply, he was relieved. To serve someone... he could do that. “Thank you, hîren”, he answered softly. “I won’t be any trouble.” “What of your horse?” Mablung stared at him. Mórhuin had only shown himself, if no one else was near and he had asked Nenwing to keep him a secret.

Curubrith lifted his eyebrows. “I can feel that it is more than a horse. We are hunters, Mablung, do you think we won’t notice if such a big animal follows us. I want to hear the truth.” Mablung nodded uneasily. He didn’t want to start their relationship with a lie. “Mórhuin is a Maia who prefers the shape of a horse. I assure you, he isn’t dangerous.” “Did he belong to Belegurth?”

“Yes, but he hasn’t had a part in his crimes. He was only his mount!” Mablung trembled again, he didn’t want them to harm Mórhuin or that they forced him to send him away. “Can he carry loads?”, Heluin asked suddenly, Mablung stared at him. “Our tents. Can he help us carry them?” “I... think so. I can ask him at least.” They discussed in a whisper. “Do that”, Curubrith said finally. “Tell him, we will accept him, if he does his share.”

 

He almost fell asleep over his meal, he was tired to death. They let him do the hard work, things no one else cared to do, but he had anticipated that. What he hadn’t anticipated was, that they treated him with kindness. The whole tribe ate together, he sat with Nenwing, Curubrith and his wife, and he was even allowed to sleep in their tent. Mablung smiled pensively. Well, this were elves after all, not orcs, he wasn’t used to live with his own people anymore.

It was as if he had a family again. The thought choked him. Did they wait for him in Aman? Did they hope he would come home on the Valar’s ships? He hadn’t been able to. He had dreamed so long of home but he hadn’t been able to go back in the certainty that on one of this ships, Melkor lay in chains and waited for his sentence. To not be able to do anything for him...

As much as he loved him, he knew that Melkor had done unpardonable things. Mablung sobbed, a tear fell into his soup. “Mablung...” Nenwing sat down beside him and laid Linqil into his arms. She didn’t ask: _What’s wrong?_ She knew. Mablung blinked and cradled Linqil. “I wish, I could have something of him, like you do”, he said softly so only she could hear. Nenwing rubbed his back and Linqil smiled at him.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Mo heard the door of his room being unlocked and opened his eyes. His back hurt, every motion was too much. “Forgive me, that I don’t stand up, herdir”, he said, his voice hoarse. “How are you, little brother?” Aule sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m fine. Thank you, herdir.” Mo twisted his neck to be able to look at him. “For what?” Aule sounded puzzled. “I would be in Mandos now, if you hadn’t spoken for me. You earned me this lenient punishment.”

“That’s not true.” The Vala smiled at him. “You think too ill of yourself. Didn’t you hear the elves? Of course I suggested that you serve your sentence here, but they all saw and heard yesterday that you are repentant. You earned this mercy with your answers and because you wanted to spare the witnesses from having to testify. That was very noble of you.” “I caused enough pain”, Mo answered ashamed. “You shouldn’t praise me.”

Aule shook his head. “It was right and I know that you did it without ulterior motives. You made mistakes and you have to atone for it, but in the last years you contributed to Angband being a less dark place. Don’t forget that.” Aule laughed softly. “I can’t believe that I sit here and comfort you. I wasn’t well-disposed toward you for a long time, but I can hear that you regret your deeds and so I can forgive you.”

“Thank you, herdir.” Mo couldn’t forgive himself but he couldn’t argue with his master, he was too tired. “What happens to Melkor?”, he asked haltingly, not sure how Aule would react. He was well aware that Aule didn’t see it gladly that Mo still cared for him. “You heard the sentence.” “Yes, but I mean: What will Namo do to him?” Mo gulped, it had sounded so ominous. “I don’t know.” Aule couldn’t look him in the eyes and that frightened Mo even more.

He had seen what Namo had already done, how would he treat him, now that he had him in his grip? “Can you do nothing for him?”, he whispered. “No, I can’t and believe me, I would if I could. I don’t love Melkor but I can’t believe that torturing him is right. If more of my siblings where against it we might persuade Manwe to change the sentence, but...”

Aule shook his head. “You better worry for yourself. Not many of your brothers are well-disposed towards you and I won’t always be able to protect you.” “I know, herdir, and you don’t have to. I can take care of myself.” Mo smiled, he behaved more confident than he felt. He didn’t want be a bother.

 

His halting steps echoed through the hallway. Sinthoras wasn’t at all sure if it was a good idea to see Melkor. Namo had warned him that Melkor might try to ingratiate himself with him but he hadn’t forbidden him to go. Melkor looked at him when he opened the door, his eyes widened. “I should have anticipated you”, he said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, Sinthoras.” Sinthoras saw the tears in his eyes with astonishment. “You don’t think I’ll believe you?”, he snarled at him. “You always did as you pleased. No one forced you!”

Melkor’s chains rattled when he shook his head. “I was so foolish, Sinthoras. I should have known that you were loyal to me.” “You should have, yes.” Sinthoras’ voice was thick with emotion, his throat tight with unshed tears. He hated that this affected him so. “But you apologise for the wrong thing and you know it! I’m glad that you can’t hurt anyone anymore.” He left with a heavy heart. Once upon a time he would have done everything for him, he hadn’t seen what a monster Melkor had become. Someone who didn’t see love when it was laid at his feet.

 

“Are you well enough to work, Mormirion?” He blinked sleepily at Aule, it felt much too early to work but he nodded. “I think so, herdir.” Aule smiled at him. “Come, I’ll introduce you to your keeper.” Aule led him to the smithy, Mo wasn’t surprised, he had worked here before he had left. If he'd had a say in the matter, he would have chosen another place. He was tolerable at best as a smith, only when he had overseen the mines of Angband had he understood his true vocation.

The stone had called to him like fire and metal had never done. They walked to a woman who bent thin gold wire to a filigree pattern. A woman? Aule had always taken everyone into service whom he deemed accomplished enough, but women were still a rarity, especially in high positions and she had to have one, if Aule entrusted him to her. She didn’t let herself get worked up and finished her task before she turned to Aule.

“Good morning, herdir.” She pushed a strand of brown hair behind her ear that had escaped from her plait. “Do you bring me your convict?” “Good morning, Liriel. This is Mormirion, I trust you to treat him well.” She nodded. “Of course.” Aule turned to Mormirion. “I expect you to obey Master Craftswoman Liriel. I won’t suffer a refusal.” Mo bowed deeply. “Of course, herdir.” He knew that his was a test. He had to accept a subordinate role to an elf, and a woman nonetheless. He would be watched closely.

When Aule had left, Liriel said to him: “I want you to know that I don’t have a personal grudge against you. I know what you have done, but Aule tells me that you are repentant and you wouldn’t be here if it were otherwise. I don’t want to humiliate you with the tasks I give you, I only follow orders.” Mo nodded. He was thankful that Aule had chosen someone who didn’t hate him.

“Good. Fetch a broom.” She winked at him and turned back to her work. Mo sighed and began to sweep the workshop. He was aware of the gazes of the other smiths, not all were friendly. He vowed himself to not let himself be provoked, regardless of what they said or did, he wouldn’t make this mistake twice. Aule had helped him, he wouldn’t pay him back with causing a disturbance.

 

~*~*~

 

Mo walked home slowly, circling his shoulders. His arms hurt from blowing the bellows the whole day. “Mormirion?” He turned to Liriel who came after him. “What can I do for you, herinya?” He bowed. “Would you like to join me for a glass of wine?”, she asked smiling. “I’d like to talk to you.” “Gladly, herinya. Only... why?”

“I want to get to know you. I don’t like to work with someone who I don’t know. I don’t want to just order you about.” “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” He returned her smile and followed her to her room, she lived in Aule’s house. For a moment he was concerned that someone might see them and jump to the wrong conclusions, but she didn’t seem to care and so he let the thought go.

 

“...I believed that he didn’t trust me, so I left. Sauron goaded me on of course, but it was my own decision.” He drank from his wine. “I often regretted that it was Sauron who made me join Melkor, but I never regretted that I _did_ join him, it felt right. I quite enjoyed the power I had.” “I can’t say that I understand that.” Liriel watched him pensively, Mo couldn’t answer her gaze.

She was right, power shouldn’t be so important. He looked around the room embarrassed and a picture caught his eye. It was the painting of a young man, more a boy. A stab hit his heart when he recognised him. Eru, he looked so young! “Who is this?”, he croaked and pointed at the painting. Liriel’s eyes became sad.

“That’s my brother Mablung. He was a servant in Prince Turgon’s household when... everything happened. He left and came under the Doom. I don’t know what happened to him after.” Mo cleared his throat, he had to tell her, even if she hated him after. “I know what happened to him.” He gulped. “He was captured and made a slave. Mablung... belonged to Melkor – and for a short time to me. I don’t know what he did after Angband fell, I thought he would go home.” He couldn’t look at her. How could he? He had raped her brother!

“How can a person belong to another?”, she whispered. “How could you do something like that?” Mo didn’t know what to answer. “I’m sorry, herinya. I...” He stood up and ran, he needed to get away from her. On the morrow he went to Aule and asked him to assign him to another Master. Aule narrowed his eyes. “Why? What’s wrong with Liriel? What did you do?”

“It’s not her, herdir, it’s me.” Mo looked at his feet. “I found out that her brother was a slave I knew. She shouldn’t be forced to be kind to someone who raped her brother. I don’t want her to get into a conflict between her loyalty to you and the hatred for me.” Aule scratched his bears. “I don’t think I can find someone that fast who will treat you decently.” Mo gulped. “Maybe I don’t deserved to be treated decently.” He had lain awake the whole night and thought about this. He looked at his Master.

“Shall I tell you what I did to that boy? I forced him to kneel before me. I beat him, I abused him and I talked him into believing that that’s the way it should be – until he believed that he was born to be a slave. I enjoyed it, everything. He was so beautiful when knelt naked before me, the welts on his skin... and the sounds he made when I...” Aule slapped his face. “Shut your mouth”, he growled. Mo closed his eyes. He had made him angry – good.

“Lunondo will...” Aule broke off and narrowed his eyes. “How stupid do you think I am, Mormirion? Why do you try to anger me?” Mo felt himself blush with embarrassment. “I don’t deserve your mercy, herdir. I owe you this lenient punishment and...” He wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted this mercy. “Please, herdir. Let me atone for what I did.” Aule sighed. “As you wish.” He caressed his smarting cheek.

“I understand. Maybe Namo spared you for that reason. You have a good heart, little brother, I hope you don’t lose yourself.” Aule kissed his forehead. Mo fought his tears. Even after all he had done, his Master still cared for him. His heart hurt. He was unworthy of serving Aule.

Aule stayed silent on the way to Lunondo. He did it only reluctantly, Lunondo would make the most of his position of power. He wished something else for Mormirion, but he did understand what drove the Maia. He couldn’t forgive himself and longed for punishment. Namo had been clement, so he looked for another who would humiliate him. Aule wished he could have spared him this and he would take care that Lunondo didn’t carry things too far, but he saw that Mormirion needed pain and humiliation to forgive himself.

 

Mo knelt down when Aule spoke to Lunondo who was setting tiny emeralds in a piece of jewellery. He didn’t want to be treated kindly but that didn’t mean that he needed to provoke something. Lunondo smiled triumphantly when Aule explained to him that Mo was to serve him. “I told you that Liriel is too soft. I’ll teach him manners.”

Aule narrowed his eyes. “Just, so we understand each other, Lunondo. Mormirion is in my favour. He asked himself to be brought to you. Don’t take it too far, I’ll hear of it.” “Of course, herdir.” Mo was aware that Lunondo would do everything he thought he could get away with. His hair stood on end, but he had wanted it so. “Very well.” Aule patted Mo’s shoulder when he left. ‘Good luck, little brother.'

Lunondo waited until Aule had left the room then he lifted Mo’s chin with his foot. “You have to be very eager for punishment if you asked Aule to let you serve me.” He laughed. “Let’s see what you can take, slave.” Mo had a scathing retort on his lips but he swallowed it. He had been general for too long, he wasn’t used to having to allow insults. Lunondo put a finger to his lips.

“Well, well. What am I to do with you? Yes, I know. I always wanted a second table for my workplace. Kneel on your hands and knees, over there.” He pointed to a space to his right. Mo followed the order swiftly. He understood what Lunondo intended. The Maia put a few things on his back they felt heavy and cold through his shirt. At last he put a cup of water between his shoulder blades. “Don’t spill anything.” Mo had to keep completely still so that the cup wouldn’t fall over. Soon his knees hurt.

 

“Where is Mormirion, herdir? He hasn’t come to me today and he isn’t in his room.” Aule saw how worried Liriel was, he should have told her. “I sent him to Lunondo...” “Why?”, she asked sharply. “If you would let me finish, you’d know already”, he answered. “He asked me to do it because your brother was his slave. He told you, didn’t he? He wanted to spare you the pain of having to treat him decently. He only wants to protect you, hína.”

“But I’m not angry with him, not really. I don’t really know what he did. I’m curious, I haven’t seen my brother in a very long time, I didn’t even know what became of him and now I met someone who knew him. He gave me certainty that Mablung still lives.” “Still, it its better if he doesn’t serve you. He reproaches himself for what he did, Liriel, he has to forgive himself, before he can believe that others do so.” “As you wish, herdir.” “I should have told you, I’m sorry.” Aule felt that she was hurt. “Believe me, I didn’t do it because I think that you aren’t up to it. I hold you in high regard.” Liriel bowed. “Thank you, herdir.”

 

Mo lay on his bed, the muscles in his back hurt, not to speak of his arms and knees. He came to his feet groaning when someone knocked at his door und wrapped the blanket around his hips to not be completely naked. He shrank back startled when Liriel pushed past him. “Did I wake you? Good”, she snapped at him. “Why do you run from me?” “I don’t run...” “Yes, you do! You fear my anger and so you run.”

“Herinya, with all due respect.” He offered her a seat with a motion of his hand and sat down opposite her. “If I’d run from hatred, I wouldn’t have asked Aule to let me serve under Lunondo. He doesn’t like me. I didn’t want you to feel obliged to treat me well.” Liriel stared at him. “He hurts you”, she stated when she saw how stiffly he moved. “Until now he limited it to using my back as table”, Mo answered dryly. He shrugged. “I deserve nothing better and your brother would agree.”

He stopped and sighed, shaking his head. “No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say anything because he is too well trained, but he would think that I shouldn’t talk like this. Mablung was so long a slave that he thought it right what was done to him. He forgot how it is to be free, to have his own life. He only lived for his Master.” “Tell me about him.” Mo was startled. “That’s why I’m here. I want to know more of Mablung.” “I didn’t know him well.”

Liril frowned. “But he was your... slave.” She spoke the word with reluctance. “Precisely. When I met him first, he was a twenty year old boy. I liked his looks, I took him with me and he was good enough to intrigue me. I trained him to satisfy my wishes. Then Melkor spotted him and took him with him, I only saw him in Melkor’s presence after that. He adored Melkor and fulfilled his every wish. Melkor’s appreciation was everything he wished for.”

Liriel’s gaze was uncomprehending, that only confirmed his decision. “But why? I mean, how could he believe that it is right to be a slave? How could he give up his dignity so easily?” “Mablung didn’t mean anything to Melkor.” That wasn’t true, but it was hard enough already to explain something he didn’t completely understand himself. “He was only a... a thing for him, a tool to satisfy his needs.” Mo closed his eyes. Even if she didn’t hate him now, she would after his words.

“Mablung served him for so long, eventually he started to believe, what was punched into him with every hit and every humiliating word: ‘You are worth nothing.’ Maybe it was easier for him to bear it that way.” Mo stared into space, he hated himself because he had made Mablung and so many others feel worthless – and that he had enjoyed it.

“Do you believe that, too? That an elf is worth less than you, that you can just turn us into a possession?” “I did, a long time ago.” Mo saw the anger in her eyes and cringed. “I know it sounds awful and I know that it was wrong.” “At least you are honest.” Liriel sighed. “I’ll better go now. I have to think about this.”

 

Mo’s eyes flew open when his head sagged down. He hadn’t found rest yesterday, the conversation with Liriel had left him shaken and so he almost fell asleep while kneeling beside Lunondo and playing table. He sighed relieved when evening came, but Lunondo held him back, when he wanted to leave. “You are coming with me. I want to enjoy your company a little longer.” Mo moaned silently, that sounded so suspiciously like sex, but he followed him.

It was his punishment, he would bear it. Mo knelt beside Lunondo when the Maia sat down. He didn’t say anything for a long while, as if he where concocting something – or maybe he just wanted to make him nervous. “As a slave you live to please your master, right?”, Lunondo asked. “Yes, herdir”, Mo answered. Why didn’t he come to a point? It was clear what he was driving at. “I heard that the traitor demanded of you to satisfy his... appetites.”

“Sometimes, herdir.” Mo bit his tongue to stop himself from adding that that had been an honour, Lunondo wouldn’t like to hear that. “Then you’ll have practice with this, don’t you? Show me what you can do with your mouth, slave.” Lunondo laughed softly. Mo slid between Lunondos legs and slowly opened his trousers. Lunondo sighed when he caressed him through the fabric, Mo freed his growing arousal and opened his mouth.

His fingers wrapped around what he couldn’t take in, his free hand lay on Lunondo’s thigh to steady himself. He expected that any moment Lunondo would hold him down and use his mouth, degrade him to a thing, but it didn’t happen. Lunondo came into his mouth and Mo froze when he caressed his hair. What was going on here? “You sound confused?”, Lunondo murmured. ‘I bet, I do.’ Mo looked up uncomprehending.

“I thought, you hate me. Even at the risk of provoking something: I thought, you would hurt me, humiliate me.” Lunondo lifted an eyebrow. “You kneel before me, you just had my cock in your mouth. Don’t you find this humiliating?” Mo laughed surprised. “No, herdir, I don’t think so. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who wouldn’t mind this position. You have no idea what to do to me, don’t you?”

“I didn’t serve Melkor!”, Lunondo snapped at him. “How should I know? I saw how Herdir Namo whipped you, but I fear that would go too far for Aule.” Mo opened his mouth to make a suggestion when someone stopped him. “I would consider my next words very carefully if I were you.” Lunondo stared over Mo’s shoulder, his face pale. “Follow me, Mormirion.” Mo stood up and looked startled at Namo. “I await you in Mandos.”

Mo’s heart raced, but he managed to concentrate and stood in Mandos a moment later. A slap in his face yanked his head around. “How dare you to seduce Lunondo to cruelty?”, Namo snarled. “I didn’t...” Namo slapped him again. “Didn’t you just want to tell him how to abuse you? Didn’t you see how innocent his notions are? It is worse enough that he even thinks about this.”

Mo lowered his head ashamed. “I didn’t see it like that, herdir. Please, punish me appropriately.” Mo jumped when Namo lifted his hand but he only caressed his cheek. “Sit.” In the room, that had been empty a moment ago, stood two chairs in front of a burning hearth. Mo obeyed surprised and Namo followed him.

“Tell me of Artano.” Mo winced. “I don’t know what you mean, herdir.” “Yes, you do. Don’t try to lie to me, Mormirion.” “But you saw it already.” He didn’t want to remember, not here, not in this way. “I want to hear it from you.” Mo gulped, but he obeyed, he had no other choice.

 

Aule walked up and down in his room, he couldn’t find rest. A distraught Lunondo had told him that Namo had come for Mormirion. What had happened? He was aware that Lunondo withheld something from him, but he was too worried to probe. Namo hadn’t talked to him. He should have told him! Mormirion was his servant, his brother couldn’t just take him away! Aule shook his head. Had Namo changed his mind? Would he lock Mormirion up? But even then Namo couldn’t have done it without his consent.

“I hadn’t the time to talk to you, brother.” Aule looked at Namo, when he appeared and said nothing. He waited for an explanation. “The matter demanded immediate action. You shouldn’t have left the two of them alone with each other.” “I don’t think, that concerns you...” Aule hated it when his brothers believed that they could tell him how he was supposed to deal with his servants. “No?” Namo cocked his head. “Don’t forget that Mormirion is a convicted traitor. He is here because I allow it.”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “He carries so much remorse. That’s why he isn’t in Mandos. I only took him with me to show him the truth.” “How is he?” Aule knew that a talk with Namo could have profound consequences. “He can forgive himself now, at least a little. I helped him to see the good that he did. I ask you to put him under your direct command, it is better for him, and look after Lunondo, his hatred carries him on dark paths.” Aule nodded. “I’ll go to Mormirion now.” Namo lowered his head in greeting. ‘You are so lucky, Mormirion. Others have to go through hell to gain forgiveness.’

 

Mo sighed and leaned into the hand that caressed his head when he woke. He looked up to Aule’s worried face. “How do you feel?” “Good.” Mo smiled. Namo had helped him to understand that his self-loathing wasn’t of use to anyone. And although he didn’t like the Valar’s approach, he was glad. He felt light, a heavy burden was taken from him. “I’m well, herdir. What happens to me now?” What had Namo told Aule?

Aule smiled. “I hope, you’ll endure me longer than two days until Namo has to come to talk to you.” “You... you mean...” Mo stared at him. “You mean, I’m allowed to serve you?” “That was my intention, yes.” “Thank you, herdir.” Mo felt a smile on his face. “That is a great honour for me. Are you sure you want me around?” “Absolutely, little brother. You are worth to care for. I want to have you around.”

Mo smiled and kissed Aule’s hand in thanks. Aule’s words let him come to terms with himself a bit more. Namo was right, Namo was the Judge, if he didn’t inflict a harder punishment on him, that was right. He didn’t want to think about what he did to Melkor, because that would unravel his conviction. “Are you sure, herdir?”, he asked again, when he started to doubt. “Your people won’t like it. It is more a reward than a punishment.”

“I never said that I want to punish you, Mormirion.” Aule looked him in the eyes. “You did much good in a dark place, everyone who listened to Ecthelion and his people could hear that. No one expected them to speak for you.” “I least of all.” Mo couldn’t meet his gaze. “But I accept it. I can accept now that my only punishment is house arrest.” “What you told me about that boy...”

“It is true, although I wanted to make you angry. I did all this and not only once. But you knew that.” Mo was suddenly frightened that Aule might come to hate him after all. “How long ago was that?” “I don’t know, herdir. Three hundred years or more, I cound’t... after. I told you why.” His soul was too raw from speaking with Namo.

Namo had forced him to relive what Sauron had done to him and the time when he finally looked at what he was doing, again and again. Until he understood that he had suffered enough. He was still not sure if he believed that, but he would accept that the Valar did.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine

_2 S.A._

They were sweaty and greasy from the sheep wool. Mablungs whole body hurt, shearing sheep was hard work and he was still inexperienced. Heluin patted his shoulder. “Well done, Mablung, thank you for your help.” “You’re welcome.” Mablung stretched, his joints cracked. They carried the wool back to the camp together.

“There’s a lake not far off, would you like to bathe?” Heluin pointed south and Mablung felt himself smile. “Gladly!” How long was it since he had swum? Would he still know how to do it? “How are you?”, Heluin asked as they strolled through the wood side by side. “I’m fine, I didn’t expect to be received so kindly. Thank you.”

“It’s due to your own actions mostly.” Heluin smiled at him. “You are an agreeable companion, no trace of that fabled noldorin haughtiness.” “Maybe you don’t know the Noldor as well as you think?”, Mablung answered with a wink. “I’m not Feanor, I’m just an ordinary elf of whom no one will ever tell tales.”

Mablung undressed and stepped into the water with a sigh, it felt good around him. He turned around when he noticed that Heluin didn’t follow him. “Are you coming?” Heluin had turned pale. “What happened to your back?” Mablung gulped. Of course, the scars. He hadn’t considered that this wasn’t a common sight here. “I was a slave. It happens.” Mablung met his eyes. “I don’t want pity, I had more luck than many.” ‘I loved my Master.’

Mablung felt Mórhuin’s presence soothingly sliding against his soul. He wasn’t far off. He jumped when he felt a physical touch. Heluin pulled the hand, he had traced along his back, away. “Does it hurt?” Mablung smiled. “No, the wounds have healed, they’re only scars. Does it look very bad?”

Heluin shrugged. “How am I to judge? I never saw such injuries. We don’t punish in that way. It looks bad to me. But the question is: Is it bad for you that you have them?” Mablung shook his head, he didn’t have to stop to ponder. “It hurt. Sometimes it was so bad, I thought I couldn’t endure it, but now...” Now other things hurt much worse. He let himself fall into the water’s embrace, he didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“Mablung?” He started, his hand shot to the knife on his belt. He sighed relieved when he recognised Curubrith. “You startled me, herdir”, he said and bent down to retrieve the firewood he had dropped. “Forgive me.” Curubrith smiled. “Do you have a moment for me?” “Of course, herdir.” Curubrith looked nervous, what could he want? “You like Nenwing, don’t you?” Mablung nodded. “I do. That’s why I’m here.”

Curubrith had no idea how much she had helped him. She and Linqil were the reason why he got up each morning and walked on, although his soul longed to forget. “Would you marry her?” Mablung’s mouth fell open. “What? I mean...” He chose his words carefully. “Nenwing is like a sister to me, but my heart belongs to another and I know that’s the case with her too. My beloved will never return to me but hers might. I can be a brother to her and the boy an uncle, but I can’t marry her.”

“I understand.” Curubrith watched him carefully. “I would have liked someone for her who can protect her.” “I feel honoured that you think I’m the right one for this task, but I can without marrying her.” Curubrith shook his head. “You aren’t a relative, you can’t be alone with her, it isn’t proper.” “I understand.” Mablung nodded, he did accept the customs of these elves although he didn’t always understand them.

Curubrith stopped him the next day when he had finished feeding the animals. “I thought about what you said and talked with my wife and Nenwing. You said, you would be like a brother to her. Would you want to be truly her brother?” “I don’t understand...” Mablung looked puzzled at Curubrith. “It is our custom to adopt elves that want to join our tribe. You will be my son, if you want.”

Mablung was deeply touched by Curubrith’s offer. He wiped his eyes embarrassed. “It would be an honour if I were allowed to call you ‘father’.” Mablung knelt and pressed Curubrith’s hand to his forehead. “You are a good father that you do this for your daughter.” “Not only for her. You are a decent person, Mablung, you don’t deserve to be excluded.” Curubrith helped him to his feet. “No one has to kneel before me.”

“No one excludes me”, Malbung answered. “You are all so very kind to me, although I’m a Noldo. Despite everything. I didn’t expect that.” Curubrith put a hand on his shoulder. “We told you, we wanted to teach you humility, but that isn’t necessary. You are not like the Noldor I have met. We didn’t think you would put up with it. But maybe it isn’t surprising, you were a slave, you know what humility is. You proved that you aren’t bad. You will be my son in every respect, with all rights and obligations that brings with it. And of course your punishment is over.”

Mablung lowered his head. “Thank you. I hope, you know that I don’t accept because of that. I do it because I’m very fond of Nenwing and I hold you in veneration.” Curubrith embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. “I know, iôn. I’m very proud to call you my son.” Mablung returned the embrace, tears ran down his cheeks and he wasn’t ashamed of them. He had lost his family a long time ago, the other slaves had been his family after that. He would have never dreamed of finding a new family in these deep woods, someone he was allowed to call father and mother – and sister. It could have felt strange, but he was simply happy.

 

Mablung rubbed the big bruise on his thigh, that the ram had left, with a cool salve, when Nenwing came in, Linqil in a scarf on her back. “What did you do?” Mablung grimaced. “It was he ram. He probably thought, I wanted to hurt one of his wives. We have a few difficulties, the two of us.” He helped Heluin with the sheep, they got on well with each other – unlike the ram.

Nenwing laughed, she lifted the sleeping Linqil from her back and laid him in his basket. Mablung limped over. “He’s growing fast.” He caressed Linqil’s head. “He does and he’s eating like he’s starved.” Nenwing rubbed an aching breast. “What do you think, will we reach the mountains before winter?”, Mablung asked. This land was so new for him and the dense wood didn’t make it easier for him to guess at the distance.

“I don’t know. I never came so far eat before. But I hope so, I don’t want to winter on this side.” Mablung shuddered. “I don’t like the winter, it reminds me of the Helcaraxe and all that happened before.” Nenwing patted his arm. “Don’t blame yourself, gwador. You were young and your beloved was in danger. What else could you have done?”

“But I killed him!” Mablung swallowed his tears with difficulty. “Let us not speak about it.” Every time she called him brother, ever time Curubrith called him son, it made him feel warm. After all this time he finally had a family again, he had missed this comfort. He would never forget his parents and his sister, but he hadn’t seen them for so long... he would never see them again if he didn’t go back to Valinor, he had accepted that fact.

 

~*~*~

 

The messenger bowed deeply before King Oropher. “What can you tell me?” “A tribe of Nandor waits on the border and asks for permission to settle in your territory.” “And the problem?” Oropher sounded impatient. “They have a Noldo with them, they seem to have adopted him. We didn’t want to admit them without asking your permission, aranen.”

“You did well. Bring their speaker and this Noldo to me, I want to know what he has to say.” He turned to his son who sat beside him. “Go with the messenger. I want you to keep an eye on the Noldo. Who is to know what he is up to. They are evil, all of them.” “I know, father.” Thranduil stood up and bowed. “You don’t have to remind me, who killed mother and destroyed our home.” They had gone east after Doriath had fallen and had built themselves a home here, far away from Feanor’s spawn.

 

The hatred of their guide was almost tangible. Mablung became more nervous with every step. He had gotten used to that his origin was of no interest, but it seemed to be otherwise with these Sindar. Curubrith had promised him to vouch for him, but King Oropher was a Sinda from Doriath, a relative of Elwe Singollo, and seemed to share the feelings, his former king had had for the Noldor. The crimes of Feanor’s sons that he must have witnessed surely hadn’t made that better.

Mablung had been horrified, when he had heard of the second and third kinslaying. Oropher would insist on punishing him, he was sure. He trembled, it wouldn’t be done with a little work this time. He hoped, that he wouldn’t banish him, when he had just found a new family. Mablung swallowed hard when they were led through two large doors into the hill and stared around amazed. It didn’t look like a cave. He had expected something like Angband, but this... On the walls hung lamps that glowed with a warm amber light, set in vines and flowers. The throne room took his breath away. He remembered the lines form the Lay of Leithian that described Menegroth:

 

_There a light_

_like day immortal and like night_

_of stars unclouded, shone and gleamed._

_A vault of topless trees it seemed,_

_whose trunks of carven stone there stood_

_like towers of an enchanted wood_

_in magic fast for ever bound,_

_bearing a roof whose branches wound_

_in endless tracery of green_

_lit by some leaf-imprisoned sheen_

_of moon and sun, and wrought of gems_

_and each leaf hung on golden stems._

 

This wasn’t Menegroth but for him, who had lived almost his whole life in the dark halls of Angband, it felt like it were. The king sat on a throne of dark wood, autumn leaves were woven into his hair. Mablung knelt, before someone could force him. He would do everything to be allowed to stay with his new family and he knew what was expected of him. Curubrith remained standing, he only bowed his head to Oropher.

“I expect an explanation why my son and I are greeted in such an unfriendly way”, he said. Mablung smiled. The Noldor hadn’t sole claim on pride. “Why did you allow a Noldo to accompany you?” The king’s voice was full of disgust. “He helped my daughter. I found him to be a kind young man, I value him highly and I adopted him.” “Did he fight in Doriath or at another of the kinslayings?”, their guard asked who stood now beside Oropher’s throne.

“And who are you?”, Curubrith asked irritated. “My son Thranduil”, Oropher said. “Answer his question.” “He wasn’t in Doriath, but he was in Alqualonde.” Mablung heard that Curubrith wasn’t sure how much to say and he was grateful that he didn’t go into detail. “And still you forgave him?” “We did. My tribe is behind me in this.” Mablung could see Curubrith’s clenched fist, he was angry.

“But it is of no interest anyway. He is my son. Maybe we are even blood relatives. I would have followed Finwe if I hadn’t met my wife. I could have easily fallen under the same doom. Do you want to curse me for my ancestry, too?” Mablung would have stared at Curubrith hadn’t he been on his knees. Of course, Curubrith had dark hair, but that wasn’t so uncommon for a Nando and he was very old, he had already lived before the Quendi had broken up into different people. He hadn’t known that Curubrih had been one of Finwe’s.

 

Thranduil gritted his teeth. When they had come here and his father had ascended the throne, he had vowed to respect the unwritten laws of the tribes. An adopted elf belonged to the tribe, regardless of who he had been before. They couldn’t deny him admission to Greenwood if they didn’t refuse the whole tribe and that was out of the question. Oropher gave a sign to the guards who seized the Noldo and tied his wrists on his back.

Curubrith stared angrily at the king. “What are you doing?” Oropher smiled cunningly. “I allow you to settle in Greenwood. You submit to my jurisdiction by that. The Noldo will get a trial.” “He was punished!” Oropher lifted an eyebrow. "Do you want to deny him a fair trial? The Sindar, who came with me, will never accept him if he isn’t judged.” He couldn’t afford to insult the Nando, his position wasn’t as stable as he wanted it to be, but he wouldn’t allow that a Noldo got away unscathed.

Curubrith seethed with anger but he couldn’t do anything. “Allow me to send a messenger to my tribe.” “You can use one of my runners.” Oropher stood up. “You may go now.” Curubrith bowed deeply. As soon as he was shown his room he sat down to write a message to Heluin, he told him what had happened and that they should hurry. He would stay, he couldn’t leave Mablung. He was shocked that they had locked him up. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come here.

 

“What will you do with him?”, Thranduil asked when they were alone. “What would you do?” Oropher rested his chin on his interlocked hands and gave him a sly look. “I’d love to let him rot in a cell.” Thranduil clenched his fists, the death of his mother was fresh in his mind. “But his tribe wouldn’t like it.” Thranduil sighed. “Besides...” “Besides?” Oropher lifted an eyebrow. “He is pretty, it would be a shame.” His father laughed. “If you want him, you’re welcome. You know where to find him. But you wanted to know what I have in mind. I’ll have him whipped. That won’t make up for what he has done, but to see the pain on his face is at least something.”

 

The Noldo looked up when Thranduil entered his cell but he didn’t look at him. His gaze rested on something over his right shoulder. Thranduil fought the urge to turn around. “I wondered, when you would come.” His voice had a strange undertone. “You did?” “I saw how you looked at me. You came to take what you want.” The Noldo sighed and Thranduil realised that what he had heard was resignation.

Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he could do this. Could he rape someone, even if it was a Noldo, and didn’t that place him on the same level with the people he hated so much? “You wouldn’t fight?” He was surprised that the Noldo remained so unmoved by the thought. “No, I learned the hard way that it is useless to fight someone who has the power. Do, what you came to do, I won’t fight.”

Thranduil’s stomach churned. He had expected arrogance, maybe hatred. He had been prepared to subdue him. This was completely different. “How do you mean that?”, he asked, curious against his own resolve. What did he care? The Noldo was a murderer, he shouldn’t care what was in his mind. The Noldo looked at him with tired eyes. “I was Morgoth’s slave. I know how it feels to be used.”

Thranduil knew now what he had to do. He was no monster! He didn’t want to have to compare himself with Morgoth. The Noldo had committed terrible crimes but he was still an elf, he couldn’t treat him like filth.

Mablung rested his head against the wall when the prince left him without saying another word. He had been sure that Thranduil would take him. Maybe he had more scruples than he had thought. ‘Or maybe you are imposing the wrong standards. These are no orcs, these are your people.” Sometimes he wondered if he had lived so long in slavery that he always expected the worst of everyone. But they did hate him, he wouldn’t be in prison if it were otherwise, he was right to be wary.

 

Mablung lay on his belly and allowed Nenwing to treat to his back. The trial had only served to bring to attention that he was a Noldo, as had clearly been Oropher’s intent. But when he had heard the sentence, he had almost laughed. Twenty lashes had been only the beginning when Melkor had been angry. It hurt, but it was bearable, it didn’t even bleed.

Curubrith had been angry that he was treated like this, but by now he had calmed down. Mablung knew that he had to treat carefully, the Sindar would use every excuse he gave them. He would never move far from his family. “Nenwing”, he said finally, when he got tired of her fussing around. “I won’t die and I’m not ill. Take Linqil and mother him, he needs it more than me.”

He sat up and searched for his shirt. Not that he cared much for putting the welts in contact with fabric, but these elves had a very strange attitude toward naked skin. It would only earn him shocked looks if he walked around the camp stripped to the waist. “As you wish.” Nenwing threw the garment at him. “I only wanted to help.”

Mablung sighed and rubbed his temples. “I know, nésa, I’m sorry. I’m just irritated by all of this...” “I’m sorry how they treat you, Mablung.” Nenwing kissed his cheek. “Father fumed with rage. You can be sure that he won’t allow that you are treated unjustly, now that the king’s sentence is carried out. They wouldn’t treat you like this if they knew what happened to you.” Mablung shrugged with a wry smile. “It is as it is. I intend to forget this as fast as the welts need to heal. I don’t take it personal. Let them think what they want. I don't care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is an excerpt of the Lay of Leithian from the HoMe


	41. Chapter Forty

Ecthelion’s steps echoed in the entrance hall of Ilmarin. Now, that the last Maia had been sentenced, the Valar had time to decide what should happen to the orcs who had helped the slaves to escape. It was about time. They had dropped them on Tol Eressea and that was the only reason why there hadn’t been blood yet. Still, he and his people had enough to do with keeping outraged elves away from the camp of the orcs.

It took him a moment to recognise Sharû. The orc viewed the frescoes on the walls, his back was turned to Ecthelion. He wore no armour and his dark hair lay open on his shoulders, he could have been mistaken for an elf from behind. Maybe he was a little heavier built than most, a little shorter, but not so much that it would attract attention. “I wanted to meet you, but you were already gone”, Ecthelion said to him. They had both stayed the night in Valmar.

“I wanted to go this way alone.” Sharû turned around. “I had to think.” He stared at him. “What did you do to your hair?” Ecthelion grinned and rubbed over the stubble on the left side of his head, the side that was scarred by burns. “I don’t allow the people to forget what I was”, he answered. “My relatives, my friends, they’d love to pretend that I was never gone. They want Ecthelion of the Fountain, the war hero, the musician and all that happened after can be forgotten.”

He shook his head. “I was all that and I didn’t allow my captors to take that knowledge away when I was a slave. But I’m an Angband-Elf and I won’t allow them to take that away from me either. And that’s why I won’t hide my face behind long hair. I’m not ashamed for what I did - had to do - to stay alive.” He put his hand on Sharû’s shoulder. “And it reminds me that it were two of your men who carried an unconscious slave from a burning building and brought him to Mormirion.”

Sharû smiled at him, Ecthelion saw that he was nervous. “But will it be enough?” Ecthelion shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think that they want to kill you. They could have done that on the other side of the sea with much less effort. And they wouldn’t have invited you to Valinor if they saw you as enemies. I talked a lot with Aule these past months and he seems more interested than repulsed by you.”

“He talked to me a few times on the march, but I haven’t seen him since we reached the island. Do you know what happened to Mo?” Ecthelion nodded. “I was present at his trial and his sentence was very lenient considering the circumstances. Aule has taken him in, he is under house arrest.” “Would you tell him, how this ended? I don’t think they would let me talk to him.” “I will try, but I can’t make promises.”

He saw the jolt that went though Sharû and turned around. “The Valar are ready to receive you. I’m Reviahûn, please, follow me.” Sharû looked as if he had seen a ghost. “What’s wrong?”, Ecthelion asked. He didn’t lower his voice, the Maia would hear anyway. Sharû shook his head. “Later.” “He remembers me from Angband”, Reviahûn said calmly. “We were in the mines at the same time. Come, they are waiting.”

Ecthelion frowned when he followed the Maia. The mines... but he couldn’t be one of Morgoth’s men... oh. He glanced at Sharû. The orc nodded curtly, his face serious. Just wonderful. Why did they send someone who was bound to hate orcs? That didn’t bode well. “Why are the Valar receiving us here?”, Ecthelion asked. He was surprised that they hadn’t been called to the Mahanaxar.

“The Powers don’t want to cause more trouble than necessary, now that the trials are over. It may be that you will be questioned in public at a later time, but for now they want to settle this matter in private. Most elves consider the prospect of orcs living in the immediate vicinity... unsettling.” “And what do you think?” “It is not my place to question the decisions of my Masters.” Ecthelion couldn’t read in his face. He let it go, better not to push him.

 

Sharû had to force himself to keep his hands unclenched. He was tense and kept reaching for a sword he wasn’t wearing. He longed for his armour, he felt wrong in elvish clothes but he wanted to make a good impression. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that it depended on him what happened to his comrades. The Valar should think of him as an elf, that was their best chance. Mo had known it, Silwen and Garam, who had already managed to be accepted by them, had told him, too.

He wished the two of them were here. They were the best example, both of them, that ancestry didn’t matter. Well, Ecthelion was just as welcome. The elf and his men kept watch so that no other elves could stray too close. It strained his nerves that they couldn’t defend themselves but he hadn’t dared to ask for their weapons yet. “I have to leave you here. Enter this room.” Reviahûn pointed to the door in front of them.

Sharû looked at Ecthelion, the elf only shrugged and opened the door. The room behind was circular, fourteen empty chairs stood lined on the wall. Weren’t the Valar supposed to wait here? Sharû entered the room and suddenly the chairs weren’t empty anymore. Sharû knelt hurriedly, he bowed his back until his forehead touched the floor. Aule seemed to be agreeable but he didn’t want to take any risks. Melkor had always expected complete submission.

“Rise, Sharû.” He couldn’t say who of them had spoken, only that the voice was male, it echoed inside him. He sucked in his breath when his gaze fell on the Vala in front of him. He looked like his king though his face was more gentle, his eyes kind. It was said that Manwe and Melkor were brothers but why had he chosen a body that looked so much like his brother, if he could choose?

“Tell us about you, Sharû”, he said, it was the same voice as before. ‘Take your time’, Silwen had advised him. ‘They have time. Don’t risk to not say enough.’ “I was born in Angband”, he started. He spoke in the language of Angband, he understood the Quenya the Noldor had brought back across the sea but when he had to use it, he felt like a trained dog. His native language derived from the Quenya all elves had spoken at first, it was a little harsher and less lovely for elven ears but it was still recognisable as elvish language.

“Back then we had still families, later they took the children away from their mothers after they had been weaned, so there was no one they could set their hearts on. But I had a family. My father was one of the first orcs. He was... sad. He forbade my mother to give me an elvish name because he didn’t want me to suffer as he had done. I don’t know who he was before, he never spoke to me about it, he wanted to forget it.

Frequently he was gone for weeks and when he came back he was ill and gaunt and was in pain when he moved. They tortured him so he wouldn’t forget what he was, whom his loyalty had to belong to. It was easier for my mother. Her mother was a slave but she looked so much like her father that she was considered...” Sharû gritted his teeth when hate boiled up in him. ‘Morgoth’, he thought. He had caused so much suffering. He and Sauron who had had a big part in making the orcs.

“She was considered good breeding stock. She and my father had twelve children before she died in childbed. My father didn’t survive long after she died, he loved her very much in his way.” Sharû shook his head to banish his tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of them. “Mother, she told me and my siblings elvish stories and sang songs full of starlight and open woods.

It could have gotten her into trouble but although father couldn’t bear to listen, he never betrayed her. When I was conscripted, she said to me I shouldn’t forget where I come from. ‘Never forget how lucky you are that your eyes are yellow and your skin dark. They are your family, too.’ But I was a soldier and I had to fight. I needed to forget, I didn't dare to look and see how similar to me my enemies were.

I shielded myself by telling me that I hadn’t anything in common with them. I knew what happened to the ones who asked too many questions, after all. I didn’t want to be brought into a cell and be ‘convinced’.

Later I was transferred to the mines as guard for the slaves and there... I couldn’t ignore the words of my mother anymore. In war it is kill or be killed, but in the mines they were only defeated people and I saw the same pain in their eyes I saw so often in my father’s. I couldn’t do much, but even a guard can decide if he strikes when someone stumbles or wait for a moment so he can get on his feet again.”

Sharû looked each of the Valar in the eye. “I won’t pretend that I never did anything bad. It was my right to take them and I did. Maybe it was wrong, but I at least never was cruel.” He looked at Ecthelion who stood next to him, unsure what the elf would say to this.

“If you have the choice between a master who gloats over your pain while he fucks you or one who gives you a little mercy in all this darkness, you are grateful for the latter.” Ecthelion smiled at him. “But you only understand that when you have been there. It wouldn’t have been of use to anyone if you had lived celibate.” Sharû nodded slowly.

“Eventually Mormirion approached me”, he continued, “and told me that he wanted to build up a new unit. He offered me the position of a colonel and I couldn’t possibly say no. I was the only orc in such a high position. Mo searched for men like me. Orcs with elvish parents or what came closest to that. Later slavechildren who had orc-fathers, like Garam.” “Mo?”, Aule interrupted him surprised.

Sharû shrugged embarrassed. “I didn’t call him that in public, but in our free time he was always Mo for me, he was my friend. Mo didn’t treat us like the other commandants. He didn’t look down on us because of what we were. He offered us his respect and we thanked it with loyalty. Mo wanted us to remember who our parents were, Mo wanted us to accept our heritage. He gave us a prospect, a life. He expected of us to treat the slaves justly.

Eventually I noticed that he siphoned off rations to feed the slaves. Me and my men decided to contribute with our pay. Ecthelion asked me once why we did it. We are orcs, but we aren’t like the ones who are sundered from elves by many generations. Everyone of us could have been born as a slave – and when you see that, you can’t let your relatives starve. And that’s why we are here now.

I stood beside Mo when Sauron ordered him to kill the slaves and I knew that there would be a rebellion if he intended to follow the order. But Mo couldn’t do it either. He said: ‘I don’t want to have more innocent blood on my hands. Let us do something we can be proud of.’ And so we helped the slaves to escape.”

“Why didn’t you leave after? You had accomplished your task”, a man with dark-brown hair and beard, who sat next to Aule, asked. “Where could we have gone?” Sharû shrugged. “Our whole life we had followed orders, you don’t set that habit aside easily, and we knew that Angband would fall. We didn’t have a home to go back to, only uncertainty before us. Mo told us that he wouldn’t be able to do much for us but most of us decided to go with him anyway.

The tales my mother told me, speak of you as benevolent guardians. You invited our ancestors to come here. Shall we be punished forever that they declined and were taken captive? Aren’t we elvish enough to deserve a place near you? We don’t ask much, we only want to live in peace.”

“We thank you for your words, Sharû.” Manwe looked at Ecthelion. “You and your men name these orcs your prisoners and you defend this claim insistently. I hear that you maintain guards on Tol Eressea who keep other elves away. Why?”

“I want to make it clear that we bear no grudges. We only insist on them being our prisoners because that means that it is our decision what happens to them. Usually it is enough to quieten all others, they knew that we were slaves after all. We don’t show openly that we are on good terms with them. But you I want to tell, that I call this man brother and would vouch for him anytime.”

Sharû was taken aback. That he would go so far... “Where does this... friendship come from? They were your masters.” Ecthelion bowed his head to Ulmo. “Maybe I’m not the right one to explain this. I wasn’t as long a slave as many others and I did come to Angband after Mormirion and his men had taken on the supervision over the slaves.

It wasn’t an easy life and we had to do many things that we wouldn’t have done in other circumstances. Yes, I had to work until I was dead on my feet. Yes, I was beaten and yes, I was raped. An everyday occurrence, by the way, you get used to it startlingly fast, although I only let it happen grudgingly. But I was told that it had been far worse before. There were the additional rations, although we didn’t know, of course, that our guards paid for them.

Punishments weren’t arbitrary, you usually knew, why you were beaten. The rules were rigorous but if you followed then, you weren’t treated cruelly.” Ecthelion looked at Sharû. “It were two of his men who rescued me from the fire that caused the scars on my face.” “I heard...” “I know what you heard!” Ecthelion cut Orome short, his anger getting the better of him.

“No, I didn’t get these injuries at the fight for Gondolin. Someone who was of the opinion that it would make a more heroic tale, spread this lie. You can be sure that he will regret to have invented it, if I ever get hold of him. I was a slave and I won’t be persuaded to have a guilty conscience because of it.” “It was not my intention to offend you”, Orome said. “I was only surprised. Please, continue.”

“The fire... A furnace exploded. I was on the way to the exit, I don’t remember why, but it saved my life, everyone nearby got killed. Two guards who had come running to rescue the orc who had overseen us, saved me. They saw that they couldn’t do anything for their comrade but I still lived. They could have left me. I was only a slave, too badly injured to be able to work again soon – worthless.

They carried me out of the building and brought me to Mormirion. I owe my life to these orcs, twice over. We would have fought if they had followed Sauron’s orders and taken as many of them with us as we could, but we wouldn’t have survived. Sharû said that he did bad things, and that is probably true. They were our enemies and they did despicable things, but they saved our lives. The debt, they might have owed us, is paid.”

Ecthelion shrugged. “Besides, I’m Noldo, I have experienced firsthand what revenge leads to. I’ve had enough of it.” “And you are all in agreement about this?”, Orome asked. “I don’t think that there can be complete agreement in such things. Of course there are former slaves who want satisfaction. I gave Aule a list, it concerned Mormirion’s trial, but everyone who signed it, will accept Sharû’s people as kin.”

“The list is quite long”, Aule said. Manwe nodded slowly. “Go now. Reviahûn will show you a room where you can wait until we come to a decision.” Ecthelion bowed deeply. He thought that it had went well. “You spoke well”, he said to Sharû after he had closed the door behind them. “You, too.” Sharû squeezed his shoulder.

“I want to thank you, Ecthelion, regardless of how this ends. If it weren’t for you and the other Angband-Elves, it would be so much more hopeless. And concerning the satisfaction that some of you demand: If the answer of the Valar should be positive, we will find a way to let them have it. I already talked to my men about it.” Ecthelion frowned. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Do you know how a blood debt is paid?” Ecthelion shook his head. “I don’t know much about orcs.” Sharû nodded, but he didn’t continue because Reviahûn came to them. They followed him wordlessly to a room nearby, where food and drink was ready for them. “If you need something, ring the bell.”

“So, a blood debt.” Ecthelion poured them wine and took a bite from a pastry. How good food could taste if you knew how it was to starve... “Yes. To prevent a feud that could otherwise go on for many generations. Everyone of you who demands satisfaction can choose one of us. The victim accepts the services of the offender for a year and a day – complete submission, he will be like a slave.

But sometimes the wrong done can only be atoned for with blood. The victim can torture the offender then, although death it not desired.” Ecthelion squeezed Sharû’s hand. “I’m going to see to it that anyone who might want this will treat your men decently. I meant what I said to the Valar. I consider you as kin – and you don’t torture kin.”

 

Ecthelion walked up and down the hallway. The Valar had asked Sharû to come in alone and the time seemed to stretch endlessly. The suspense was killing him. Finally the door opened and Sharû came out with a huge smile on his lips. “They give us the island”, he said. “That’s wonderful!” Ecthelion was relived. He wanted to add something but the words left him when Sharû embraced him. “Thank you, my friend... brother.”

Ecthelion returned the embrace hesitantly. Sharû was big and warm, he would have liked to lean his head against his shoulder. He stepped back awkwardly before his feelings became too obvious. “I’m glad that you are allowed to stay.” “Yes, the only restriction is that we are only allowed to set foot on the mainland if invited, but I think it’s better that way. We know that most elves will view us with distrust and hate, we don’t want to court risk.”

“My people and I will express a lot of invitations”, Ecthelion answered. “And I hope we will be welcome on the island, too.” “Of course. Once I have a house, it will be open to you anytime.” “May I interrupt you?” Aule had come out of the room and now offered a pouch and a wooden box to Ecthelion. “Is that money?”, Ecthelion asked surprised, the pouch was heavy. “Mormirion sends you this. He bids you to give the money to those of you who have need of it.”

Ecthelion opened the cord, gold gleamed at him. “But that’s... where did he get that from?” Aule smiled. “His wages. Of the next hundred years, I want to add. He said, he doesn’t need it because he isn’t allowed to leave my house anyway.” “You are kidding me! I can’t accept such a gift.” “Take it. You don’t do him a favour if you refuse it.” Aule’s gaze became gentle. “He blames himself so much. He will feel better if he can pay his debt. If you really forgive him, accept his atonement. The instrument is for you.”

Ecthelion had been so surprised that he had almost forgotten the box. Now he opened it with trembling fingers and found a disassembled wooden flute. He put it slowly together and blew a note. He was awarded with a deep, warm sound, dark and sweet like honey. Ecthelion’s fingers flitted over the holes before he was completely aware that he played.

“What a wonderful instrument.” Ecthelion caressed the dark wood and noticed the sign that was stamped into one of the brass joints. “Priceless”, he whispered. “I want to see him”, he said to Aule. “This present asks for personal thanks. May I?” “He is in house arrest not in solitary confinement, of course you can visit him.”

 

Mo sat at his worktable and copied a diagram. Aule didn’t want to give him humiliating tasks, but as he hadn’t any rank at the moment he couldn’t let him work on his projects either, so he copied old documents. No one had time for it, no one would begrudge him this task, but it was really about time that someone go to it, some of the parchments were brittle and faded. Mo liked the work, it was strangely relaxing, like he was travelling back in time. He had helped with some of this projects – before he left.

He felt that he wasn’t alone anymore and turned around. “Ecthelion?” Mo stood up and bowed. “What can I do for you, herunya?” “I expected to find you in the mess hall at this time.” Ecthelion looked around, the workshop was empty apart from Mo. Mo shrugged sheepishly. “I’ll eat later. It doesn’t help my appetite when everyone looks daggers at me, you know. Please, sit.” Mo offered him his chair, but Ecthelion shook his head and leaned against the table. “Stop treating me as if you think that a wrong motion will get you punished.” Mo grimaced and sat.

“I’m just polite”, he answered, but Ecthelion was right, of course. “I just have to be very careful. To be allowed to stay here is a grace and I won’t forfeit it with a foolish mistake.” “I understand.” Ecthelion pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, it had grown out in the last months. His unconventional hairstyle hadn’t escaped Mo’s notice. “I suppose you intend something with this?” Mo pointed to his face and his partly shaved head.

Ecthelion tilted his head. “People try to act as if nothing happened, but I won’t allow it. I won’t let them make me feel guilty about surviving.” “Do they try?” “Yes.” Ecthelion growled. “Death in battle is honourable, to let yourself be captured and enslaved is not. But I’m Ecthelion of the Fountain, I won’t be spoken to like that!” Mo smiled at himself, when he noticed the elf straighten himself. The pride of the Noldor wasn’t proverbial for nothing.

“I wanted to thank you.” Ecthelion met his gaze. “For the flute, but most of all for the money. I’m ashamed that I didn’t think of it myself. I’m a noble with a family who has my back, although they don’t understand what happened to me – how it changed me. It was always a matter of course that I would again have money and standing when I came home. I didn’t consider that not all Angband-Elves were that lucky, but you did.

I was too busy with Sharû and his men to care for my own people as they deserve, but I will now. I will see to it that none of them lacks anything. I’ll talk to the king and everyone who is of any importance so that your support won’t remain the only help.” Ecthelion grinned. “That you set an example is perfect indeed. No one would want to have it said that he is less helpful than Morgoth’s general.”

Mo couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud. “I’m glad that I could be of service. It is the least I can do.” “You gave us one hundred year’s worth of wages. I think that’s much more than the least.” Ecthelion put his hand on Mo’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “You aren’t responsible for everything that happened in Angband, Mo”, he said gently. “So don’t try to take it on your shoulders.” Mo nodded, he didn’t trust his voice.

“How is Sharû?”, he finally asked. “Well. Now that the Valar decided that they can stay on Tol Eressea, they are determined to build homes for themselves.” “I’m glad that the Valar decided this way. They followed me. I couldn’t have borne it if they had been killed.” “The Valar aren’t blind. They saw that there is more Quende in them than you’d think.”

Ecthelion smiled pensively. “If you look at him now, it is almost startling how much he looks like an elf.” “You like him very much, don’t you?” Ecthelion stared at him. “I’m still a Maia, I can hear it.” Maybe he had said to much, it wasn’t always a good idea to address the feelings of others. A light blush crept over Ecthelion’s cheeks. “Yes”, he said after a tense moment. “I like him a lot, but it is too early. For both of us.” He shrugged. “Maybe a time for us will come.” “I wish you luck.” Mo said it with all his heart.


	42. Chapter Forty-One

_6 S.A._

He saw Linqil racing at him and caught him when he jumped at him. “Hello, fion.” Linqil squealed happily when he swung him around. He was five now and followed Mablung everywhere if he let him. Mablung glanced at the sheep but it didn’t look like any of them were up to mischief so he sat down in the grass and took Linqil on his lap.

“Do you want to hear a secret?”,  the boy whispered into his ear. “What is it? Did you put another toad in Nana’s bed?” Linqil giggled. “No! I can hear things. The trees and the flowers and you and the sheep...” Linqil’s cheeks glowed with excitement. “The other children can’t hear it. Can you? Why can I?”

Mablung smiled tenderly at him. “None of them can. You got this form your father. He was a Maia, you know?” “Yes!” Linqil hopped up and down. Nenwing had told him a modified story of how she had met Carnlóme. She couldn’t tell him, after all, that she had been a slave. “Nana was hurt and he found her and took her home with him and they fell in love, but”, he breathed in deeply, “Ada had to leave and Nana came back to Iaurada, but Ada will come back.”

Mablung smiled. “That’s how it must have been.” He embraced the boy tightly. How much he loved him! “Uncle?” “Hm?” “Did you do something bad?” “Why?” “Alodin said that you are a Noldo and that you are bad. Are you bad? What’s a Noldo?” “No, I’m not bad.” Mablung felt like crying.

“The Noldor are a people. You are a Nando, like Nana and Iaurada, King Oropher and Prince Thranduil are Sindar, I’m a Noldo. Some people don’t like me because my kin did many bad things, but your Iaurada adopted me and I’m his son now, some people just don’t understand that.”

“Are you sad? You sound like it.” Mablung was startled. “No, I’m fine.” Mablung tickled him to distract him, he had to be more careful. He could remember well how much he had discerned from Melkor’s melody and Linqil’s gift was much stronger. He had to talk to Mórhuin about it – and with his sister.

 

“Nenwing?” She was in the kitchen and kneaded bread dough. He gently wiped a strand of hair from her face. “Hello, Mablung, I didn’t know that you’d come home today.” “I have to talk to you, Heluin watches the sheep for me. Is Linqil in bed?” “Yes. What did he do now?” Newning looked worried. “Nothing as far as I know. It’s about Carnlóme. Whom did he serve before Melkor?”

“He was one of Tauron’s hunters. He loved the wood.” She smiled sadly. “Do you know if he could do something special?” “He is a Maia, of course he could do things we never will.” “But maybe Linqil. He told me that he can hear the world like the Ainur do. I wonder if he can do more.” “Do you think this is bad?” A line appeared between Nenwings brows.

“Don’t worry. I can do something similar, he will learn to ignore it if it bothers him.” It was so awfully silent now, he only heard Mórhuin. Mablung felt as if something had been taken from him, as if he had become deaf suddenly. “I’m more concerned that he’ll do something without wanting to. I don’t know if this can take a life of its own. I’ll talk to Mórhuin. Maybe he can teach Linqil a few things.”

Nenwing smiled gently. “People think you a little cranky because you talk to a horse as if it were answering, do you know?” Mablung tilted his head. “But he answers me. Only because he doesn’t talk to anyone else, doesn’t mean he can’t. Sometimes he talks to Heluin and father. Besides”, he laughed softly, “if they laugh at me, they won’t hate me.” “Oh, Mablung.” Nenwing bumped her shoulder into his. “They will learn that your ancestry isn’t important.”

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung watched Linqil carefully from that point, but nothing happened and Mórhuin had reassured him. Linqil wasn’t fire or ice, he would make a excellent huntsman one day but his nature wasn’t dangerous for the elves around him. “Who was my father?”, Linqil blurted out suddenly. He lay on a rock in the river, his arm submerged up to the shoulder in the water, trying to catch trout with his hand.

Mablung started, a cold weigh settled in his stomach. “What do you mean?” He stalled for time to think, he knew exactly what he asked. “I’m not a child, uncle, I’m sixteen.” Mablung suppressed his laughter. Sixteen, yes. How mature he had felt at sixteen... “You can tell me the truth. You were slaves, mother and you, weren’t you? Was my father one of Morgoth’s followers?” Linqil tried to sound calm but Mablung felt his inner turmoil. He moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Your father loved your mother”, he said firmly. “You mustn’t doubt this. He didn’t force her. But yes, we were slaves. I found your mother in the wood after Angband fell, she was just giving birth. I knew I couldn’t leave her, so I accompanied her to her tribe. Your father was Carnlóme, one of Melkor’s generals. It shouldn’t have been possible in Angband, but they loved each other and they kept this love a secret until the end. When Sauron gave the order to kill the slaves, Carnlóme showed your mother a way out of Angband.”

“Why did she never tell me? Why did you let me believe that my father was a hero?” Linqil pulled his arm from the water and glared at him. “You were a child. We couldn’t tell you, that your mother had been a slave. And what would that word have meant to you anyway? To your mother, your father was a hero. He protected her from everything that added up to the live of a slave. Your mother misses him very much, I hope the Valar will forgive Carnlóme one day and allow him to come back to her.”

His soul hurt so much, he knew that he wouldn’t see Melkor again. “How can you love someone who takes away your freedom?” Incomprehension resonated in Linqil’s melody. “Carnlóme gave your mother as much freedom as was possible for him, as far as I know. He talked about going away with her before the war. And when you love, you only want to make your loved one happy, at all cost. You don’t care who he is or what he did.” “You too?” Linqil stared at him. “Who?”

Mablung looked down. Of course his nephew had noticed that he spoke of himself. “I was Melkor’s slave”, he answered slowly. “And I loved him, as unbelievable as it sounds.” He didn’t understand himself sometimes. Melkor had been so cruel, but he couldn’t hate him. “He was so lonely. And so forlorn at the end.” Mablung laid his hand on his chest, where he kept Melkor’s letter in a leather envelope.

“Please, don’t be mad at us, Linqil. We only wanted to protect you, and us, too. It isn’t easy to live with such a past. You can’t tell anyone because you know what people will think. ‘Slave sickness’ they call it and don’t take our love seriously, but I know what I feel.” Linqil laid his wet hand on his arm. “I’m not mad, I only thought...” He shook his head. “You are right, you don’t tell a child that his father was the Enemy’s general.” Mablung saw him swallow. “How was he, my father?”

“I didn’t know him well. Melkor rarely took me along to military meetings and it wasn’t as if I could have talked to him.” Mablung smiled when he saw the questions in Linqil’s eyes. “Slaves were forbidden to talk without explicit permission.” Linqil blushed and looked away. “If you want to know more about Carnlóme, you should ask your mother, but if there’s anything else... ask.” “Really?” Linqil hesitated. “Isn’t it hard for you to think about it?”

Mablung shook his head. “It hurts to think of Melkor, not because the memory is so bad, but because I know that I won’t see him again.” “That’s why you are always so sad! Now I understand.” Mablung was startled. “What do you mean?” “I can hear you. When you are home, with people, you laugh with them and I can feel that you are happy, but when you are alone, you feel so sad. I followed you everywhere as a child, because I thought that you didn’t like being alone. I didn’t want you to be sad.”

“Linqil...” Mablung embraced him. He knew that his nephew thought himself too old for embraces, but he needed this now. “You are right. I... I miss him so much. If it weren’t for you und Nenwing, I wouldn’t have survived the first months after Angband fell. It is still hard sometimes to even open my eyes in the morning. You two gave me a family, something worth living on for a while longer.” Linqil’s arms closed tightly around him.

“I love you, uncle. How was he?”, he asked so softly that Mablung almost didn’t catch it. “Morg... Melkor, I mean.” “He was everything you heard. Cruel, brutal and so swift to anger. Friendly at one moment and burning with wrath in the next and I could count myself lucky, if he only beat me unconscious then. But he...” Mablung shook his head.

“When I turned fifty, he gave me a cake. He once took me out of Angband and we travelled to the Ered Lindon. It was the best week of my life and I believe he was happy, too. He could be gentle, almost affectionate. And... although he couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, he loved me, too.” Mablung took the letter out of its case.

“He sent me away at the end of the war. He let me believe to the last that I meant nothing to him. He came so close to killing me sometimes, when he was angry... and then he yielded. Because he knew that I wouldn’t survive the war, if I continued to serve him and because my freedom was only ensured, if Angband were no more. He writes that his power doesn’t mean anything to him without me.”

Mablung sobbed. “I would have never thought... His power was a part of him. He gave up everything  up for my freedom. I wish, I’d stayed. If I hadn’t run, maybe we could have found a solution. Together." Linqil leaned aganst him, saying nothing. He held him together, just by being there.

 

~*~*~

 

Mo started when someone pulled the quill from his hand and him to his feet. “And you’ll come with me now, I’m hungry.” Silwen stared at him, daring him to oppose her. “I’m not welcome there, flamelet. What are you doing here, anyway?” “I’m visiting you, you idiot!” Flames danced in Silwen’s hair.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Of course they aren’t well disposed towards you, but it won’t change if you hide here. Come.” She gripped his hand and pulled him after her. “We’ll have lunch.” Mo followed her reluctantly. “I’m not hungry”, he said finally. “I don’t care.” Silwen’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t care if you just sit there and watch me eat. We haven’t seen each other in ages.”

Mo smiled. “It’s nice to see you, Silwen. How are you?” “Well. Garam is looked at warily, but after Aule made it clear that I’m his, no one dares to cross us.” “You joined Aule’s people?”, Mo asked surprised, only now he noticed the pendant with Aule’s seal, she was wearing around her neck. “Yes. I... it felt right.” She looked puzzled. “Does that sound strange?”

Mo shook his head. “Not at all. Are you tailoring?” “Yes, we live in Tirion, I rent a shop there.” “I’m happy for you, flamelet.” He was sure that Aule would have provided a dwelling in Valmar for them, but he knew Silwen’s pride, she wanted to make it on her own. “Did you hear from your father?” He hadn’t dared to enquire about Sinthoras. “Not only heard.” Silwen’s face lit up. “He visited me a few days ago. He is fine, he serves Namo.” Mo stared at her. “What?”

“Don’t look so appalled. Father is happy, I could feel it. He helps the souls to heal. It is the right thing for him, he is such a kind person.” Silwen smiled at Mo. “Like you. Don’t hide, Mo. Of course they are wary, but if you show them, how you really are, they will come to trust you again. Aule trusts you. Has he told you that he gave me your flutes for safe keeping?” “Yes.” Mo’s fingers twitched, he missed his instruments. “Thank you. It makes it easier to know that you have them and I don’t have to worry something happening to them.”

“I hope, I’ll be allowed to give them back soon.” “Surely not before I served my sentence. It is a punishment, after all.” It almost hurt physically that he wasn’t allowed to play, it was as if his hand had been cut off. He tensed when they entered the mess. Silwen walked to an empty table. “Do you really want nothing?”, she asked. Mo shook his head. “It is easier for me to see this body as what it is – raiment – if I don’t pretend to be an elf.”

Since Namo had taken him to Mandos and he had lost control over his body for a short while, he was again more aware of the music. He had seen how far the loss could go, he didn’t want to end like Melkor. “Well then. Don’t run away.” Silwen winked at him and walked to the serving counter. Actually, Mo would have liked nothing better than to slink back to the workshop, he was very aware of the looks his siblings gave him, but he knew that Silwen would drag him back and tie him to a chair if he didn’t comply. Mo smiled to himself.

She was fire and she was a Noldo, she was stubborn and courageous. He wasn’t worried, she would find her way. “Good evening, Mormirion.” Mo was so surprised when Liriel sat down next to him, that it left him speechless. She laughed softly. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.” Mo swallowed. A ghost... now that he knew that she was Mablung’s sister, he could see the similarities. A ghost... “I’m just surprised that you’d want to talk to me after what I told you.”

Liriel shook his head. “I want to know what happened to my brother. You can tell me.” “I don’t think, that’s...” He sighed relieved when Silwen came back. She gave him a wondering look. “That’s Liriel, Silwen, she’s a smith.” “A friend?” Silwen smiled at him. “So you aren’t such an hermit as I thought.” Mo shook his head. “Liriel is Mablung’s sister.” He held Silwen’s eyes with his. She knew who Mablung was, although he was sure that she had never talked to him.

“Oh.” Silwen chewed on her meal. “And what do you want from Mo?” “He knew my brother.” Liriel sat very straight. She smelled of hot metal, a smell that calmed Mo instinctively. “But he refuses to... Mo?” Her lips quivered. “My father introduced him like that.” Silwen shrugged. “Why don’t you tell her?” Mo groaned and buried his face in his head. “Have you ever tried to tell one of those that stayed about it? Besides, I didn’t know Mablung nearly as well as you two think.”

‘The man was a slave, Silwen’, he added in thought. Silwen shook her head. “Mo...” She laid his hand on his cheek. “Do you really want to pretend that you didn’t care for him?” “I didn’t say that, but our respective positions didn’t allow me to see more of him than he wanted to let his Master see.” Mo turned to Liriel. “I’m sorry, herinya, but I can’t help you. You wouldn’t like to hear, what I would tell you, if I’d go into detail and it would only be outer appearances anyway. Mablung was, what he needed to be. He kept to himself what he thought.”

_“Elvenlove.”_ Silwen glared at him. “Do you think I didn’t hear when you talked to my father? I was a very curious child. Don’t tell me, you don’t know who was in his heart.” Mo gulped. She was right, but how should he explain to Liriel? “Who are you, Silwen?”, Liriel asked frowning. It was clear that she tried to understand why she could talk to him in such a way.

Silwen’s smile became sharp. “You surely heard of the orc who lives in Tirion now? That’s my husband. My father was Sinthoras – Gothmog – I know Mo since I was a child. Don’t worry. Mo is a though nut, but I’ll persuade him to tell you what you want to know.” “Flamelet..” Mo sighed when she flashed her eyes at him. “Very well. You win. Liriel, I’ll answer your questions, but don’t blame me if you hear something you didn’t want to know.”

Mo stopped her, when she opened her mouth. “Not here. Come to me this evening, if you really want to hear it. Sometimes it is better not to know.” On their way back to the workshop Silwen looked at him searchingly. “Why are you so against telling her? She has a right to hear it. I would want to know, if it was my brother.” Mo shook his head. “But you were there, you know what it was like in Angband. She never left Aman. How can she understand... I don’t want her to think ill of Mablung because he submitted.” “Oh, Mo.” Silwen bumped her shoulder against his. “I love you, brother.” Mo kissed her cheek. “Take care, flamelet, and visit me again soon.”

 

The flames that normally had a calming effect on him, didn’t bring him relief today. Mo walked up and down the room restlessly. He was unsure what to tell Liriel. How much could he tell her? Would she be able to understand Mablung? He didn’t want her to think ill of him, he knew how much Mablung loved his sister. He had begged Melkor to search for the necklace she had given him. Mo knew of it because he had had it.

It had been shortly after Mablung had been tortured by Sauron, Mablung must have been scared but still he asked for it. He started when she knocked. “Come in.” He bowed his head to Liriel. He had procured a bottle of wine and offered her a glass. “I admit that I don’t know where to begin.” He longed for his flutes. It would have been easier to play, but to tell her... “What do you want to know?”

“How were he? Did he...” She swallowed hard. “Did he suffer a lot?” She sounded lost. “It was not easy for him, to accept that he was no longer free. That he was only a thing now.” Mo felt her flare up and added: “No, I don’t think like that, not anymore, but in Angband it was like that. He was a slave. He was there to work – and to satisfy our needs. Yes, he suffered. He belonged to Melkor and Melkor was not a gentle Master.”

“Did he fight? Did he rebel against it?” Mo had feared these questions. He remembered, what Ecthelion had told him. “No, but he wasn’t a coward, herinya. He had narrowly escaped death on the Helcaraxe and his captors hadn’t been reluctant. Before he had even entered Angband, he had been whipped. And then I told him and the other newcomers how their lives would be from now on. He didn’t fight when I ordered him to come with me.

He trembled with fear but when he made a mistake and I told him that it would have been a reason for punishment – I didn’t mean to punish him, he was scared enough – he asked me to do it. That is courage, too, herinya. Maybe a courage that doesn’t count here, but I assure you, he wasn’t weak just because he submitted.” He wanted her to understand. When Mablung found his way home someday, he shouldn’t find a sister who despised him.

“And you beat him?” Liriel stared at him. “I spanked him, not much of a punishment, but I knew that every real punishment would be too much. Mablung is a strong person, herinya, he wouldn’t have survived so unscathed otherwise. He adjusted. He soon noticed that I liked him and he knew how to benefit from it. He often asked me for little favours for the slaves in the mines.” Mo shrugged and gave her a crooked smile. “He knew very well how far he could go with his pleas. He was a good slave and I believe he knew that, too.”

“What does that mean?” “It means, that he knew how to please me.” Mo looked hard at her. “I won’t go into detail, herinya. I don’t question you about your sex life, either.” Liriel blushed violently. “Forgive me.” Mo rubbed his neck. “No, I’m sorry. That was rude, but I’m weary of being questioned again and again. And Mablung wasn’t just anyone, I cared for him.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be unseemly.”

Mo shook his head. “Never mind. Our relationship was of a sexual nature. Still... He did, what was asked of him, because he needed to, but he knew also how to take every advantage that offered itself. And you should leave it at that.” Liriel nodded. “You said he belonged to Morgoth?” “Yes, he caught Melkor’s eye and... I couldn’t help him anymore.” Mo looked down, he knew that Melkor had been cruel to Mablung, at first at least.

“Of course you know that Melkor wasn’t a kind person.” He sighed. “He hurt Mablung, very much, but Mablung survived somehow.” He shivered as he remembered Mablung’s condition after Melkor had tortured him – for an offence he hadn’t committed. An impossible love. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that Mablung fell in love with Melkor.” Liriel stared at him. “That’s impossible.” Mo shrugged.

“It’s what I saw when he deemed himself unwatched. He lived with me for a while because Melkor... he was very angry, he would have killed him if he had caught sight of him. Mablung suffered because he was parted from him. Elvenlove. He forgave Melkor everything he had done to him. And when the chance came to go back to him... He wanted to be with him and he didn’t hesitate for a moment, although he knew that I would have given him as much freedom as was possible.”

Mo gave a sharp laugh. “And if you think that impossible, you won’t believe me either that Melkor loved him, too, at the end. He yielded because of Mablung, because he wanted him to be free. He sent him away without telling him what he felt and Mablung vanished. I don’t know what became of him after.” “Are you sure?” Liriel was very pale. “About his feelings, I mean.” Mo nodded. “Melkor told me. And Mablung... you could see it, if you watched him. What do you think now of your brother?”

“He’s mad.” Liriel smiled. “But I knew that before. To be honest, I’m surprised that he gave in so easily. He never knew when it was better to keep his mouth shut. He quarrelled with my father until the fur flew and vanished for days after. It was almost impossible for them to talk without fighting, after Mablung started to meet Laurefinde. That’s why he left, I think. He was sick of being told by father that he dishonoured his family by showing himself so openly with another man.”

“Laure... you mean Glorfindel? Glorfindel of Gondolin?” “He was called that later, yes.” “I didn’t know that they were lovers. He never told me about his old life. Your father was against them?” Liriel huffed. “Father thinks, two men can’t love each other or should be together.” “With all due respect, herinya, but your father is a fool if he believes this.” “I know.” Liriel frowned. “But he won’t change his mind. I had to fight to get his permission to enter Aule’s service. ‘It’s no work for a woman.’ Ha!”

Mo laughed. “I’m glad that you carved this out for you, herinya. You belong here, I can see it.” Liriel smiled at him. “Thank you.” She stood up. “I should go now. Good night. And thank you that you told me about Mablung.” Mo brought her to the door. “Silwen was right. You have a right to know it. Good night, herinya.”

Before he could close the door, she turned back. “If I come to pick you up for lunch tomorrow, will you come with me... Mo?” “Why?” Liriel shrugged. “You are lonely. I’d like to be your friend. Why don’t you call me Liriel.” Mo swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat. “Good night, Liriel.” He kissed her cheek. “Till tomorrow.” Maybe Silwen was right. If he secluded himself, they would never accept him.


	43. Chapter Forty-Two

_101 S.A._

Mo sat on a bench in Yavanna’s garden, his eyes closed. She had caught him one day, lingering at the entrance, not sure if he would be driven away if he dared to enter, and given him permission. He came often now, he hadn’t had growing things around for so long, that it filled him with joy. A twinge shot through his heart, as he thought of Tinwelóte, but it had been so long ago that he had loved her... he had changed. He felt only regret at the memory. Regret for something that could have been and now would never be.

“There you are!” Liriel sat down beside him. She came from the workshop, her hair was bound in a ponytail and she wore simple work clothes. “I searched for you.” “I’m only taking a rest.” Mo breathed deeply and smiled at her. His friend... he was still not sure how that had happened. Stubborn Noldo... “Come.” Liriel took his hand and Mo let her tug him to his feet. “Where are you taking me?”, he asked surprised.

“I need to show you something.” She winked at him. He could feel her happiness, that she had to bite her tongue not to tell him. Mo bumped his shoulder against hers. “Then show me.” She led him to the house and after a moment he realised that she directed him to her rooms. Mo looked at her surprised. What was she up to? She had a smile on her lips. So happy... Liriel opened the door and Mo stopped short.

He saw his Master and Yavanna. What did they do here? Then he noticed his friends. Silwen and Garam and Sharû, even Ecthelion – and Sinthoras. Mo had a lump in his throat, when he saw him. They hadn’t seen each other for such a long time, he hadn’t visited him, maybe he hadn't been allowed to... And then he realised why they were here, what day it was. Silwen chuckled and whispered something to her husband.

Had it really been one hundred years? He looked at his Master for assurance. Aule smiled at him and shook his hand. “You served your sentence, little brother. From this hour you are free.” “Thank you, Herdir.” Mo knelt. “Please, allow me to enter your service again. I’m yours, Master, always.” “I accept your services gladly, little brother.” Aule helped him to his feet. “None of my people has to kneel before me, Mo.” He kissed his forehead.

Mo closed it eyes but a few tears escaped anyway. Aule called him that for the first time since he was back. It felt completely right again to serve him. “Congratulations, Mormirion.” Yavanna kissed his cheek. “I’m glad that you found your way home.” “Thank you, Mistress.” “I decided that this called for a party”, Liriel said and Mo let her pull him further into the room to his friends. A look over his shoulder showed him that Aule smiled at him. Silwen grinned. “Can it really be that you _forgot_?”

Mo shrugged sheepishly. “The time went by so fast. It isn’t as if I was treated badly. I never felt like a prisoner.” “You have to visit us soon. I want to show you our home.” Mo smiled, he was free, really free, it would take some time until he really understood. “Of course I will. As soon as I have time.” Mo took Sharû’s and Ecthelion’s good wishes and turned to Sinthoras. “Sinthoras...”

Could he still call him friend? So much had happened. Sinhoras allayed his fears by embracing him. “Mo, it feels good to see you. I would have come earlier but my Master didn’t want it. He thought it would be better for you to arrive completely before you run across your past.” Mo shook his head and looked at all his friends. “Doesn’t he know that I’m surrounded by my past? Whatever. I’m happy to see you, Sinthoras. How are you?”

Sinthoras patted his shoulder. “I’m fine, brother. I found something to do that I can support with my whole soul.” “Silwen told me.” Mo hesitated, he wasn’t sure if this was the right moment, but the doubt gnawed at him. “Mablung? Have you heard something about him?” “He isn’t dead, if that’s what you are asking. Apart from that...” Sinthoras grimaced. “He dreams.” 

“I take from your expression that they aren’t nice dreams. Sauron?” “Yes, often. And he mourns... for _him_.” Mo heard the hate in Sinthoras' voice, but maybe that wasn’t surprising, after all that had happened. “You enquired about him?” Sinthoras smiled. “Of course. You did, too. And how are _you_? Silwen says that you are lonely.” Mo shook his head. “I’m not lonely. Look around you. These are my friends. Do I look lonely?”

“No. I know what you mean. I heard that you freed the slaves. That was very noble of you, and I didn’t expect anything else from you. I assume, that’s where you know Ecthelion from?” “He gave me his sword”, Ecthelion said and offered them two glasses of wine. “And I thought: That guy is probably mad but he means it.” He grinned at Mo. “Besides, he really took pains to make up for is misdeeds.”

“May I interfere?” Aule came to them, a leather tube in his hand. Mo’s heart leapt into his throat. Could it be... Wasn’t that too much happiness? Silwen grinned at him over Aule’s shoulder. “The retention of your instruments wasn’t limited in time but I think, if you are free than completely. I trust you, Mo. Take them back.” Mo pressed his flutes to his heart. A hundred years! He hadn’t been complete for so long.

“Will you play for us?” Silwen beamed at him. Mo nodded and assembled a wooden flute. He closed his eyes to calm his breathing, it was completely silent. The Music flowed through him, clear and perfect. He didn’t think about what to play, let it simply flow after all these years of separation. It felt so good, he was home. Aule patted his shoulder when he finally ended. “I’m glad that you are back, little brother.” “Thank you, Master.” Mo’s eyes shone with tears. “For everything.”

 

Mo stumbled on unsteady feet along the hallway to his room. It was very late. He was surprised when he noticed light in Aule’s workshop. Yavanna had left early and his Master had taken his leave soon after, they were aware that his friends weren’t at ease in their presence. Mo was sorry for it, he owed them so much. Without Aule’s support... he shivered. No, he didn’t want to think about this today.

He opened the door to the workshop silently and peeked in. The coals in the forge glowed brightly, Aule operated the bellows himself, he was alone. Mo slipped through the door and closed it behind himself. He knew that he wouldn’t be of help in his half-drunk state, but he wanted to be with him. He waited silently until Aule put his piece of work back into the embers. “You are working so late, Master?” Aule turned to him. “Sometimes I come here, late at night, when everyone sleeps.”

“I don’t want to intrude...” Mo took a step back. “You aren’t intruding, Mo.” It was like a gift that he called him that. As if he would say: ‘I trust you.’ “What are you making?” Mo stepped beside Aule. “Nothing special, only a bauble.” Mo smiled at the understatement. Nothing special... Intertwined vines wrought of iron that would hold a lamp when it was finished. “May I watch you?”

He dispelled the drunkenness, it wouldn’t have been so easy a hundred years ago, but by now he had adopted a sounder mindset to his body. He didn’t want to miss it but it was only a garment that he could shed at will. “Stay if you want.” Aule turned back to his work, Mo watched him with all his senses. The desire assaulted him unexpectedly – or rather he hadn’t allowed himself to heed it, Aule had rebutted him once before, after all, for the right reasons.

Mo licked his lips as he watched him forging. He wore no shirt, only trousers and a leather apron, the muscles on his back moved smoothly under his skin. He had to restrain himself to not reach out and lay his hand between his shoulder blades. He tried in vain to concentrate on what Aule did, but that only lead to Mo asking himself how that big hand would feel on his body. “Master”, he whispered with rough voice. Aule tensed, surely he felt clearly what bothered Mo.

A cold weight settled in Mo’s belly. What If he declined again? “If it is, what I think it is, you have to call me by my name, Mo.” Aule turned to him, a smile on his lips. “I won’t sleep with you if you call me Master.” “I want you, Aule,” Mo responded without hesitation. Aule put his hand to his cheek. “Are you sure? Do you remember, what I told you back then?” “Yes, M... Aule.”

Mo looked him in the eyes. “I’m doing this because I want to do it, not because I believe that I owe you something.” Aule kissed him, Mo’s cheeks prickled from his beard. “Then come.” Aule took his hand and led him from the room. Mo didn’t notice where they were going, he was too fascinated by the feeling of his hand in Aule’s. This big, warm hand covered in smooth calluses. He caressed his palm with a fingertip and Aule smiled at him.

“Not far now”, his voice was full of promises. The room was simply furnished, only a bed and a washstand, Mo would have never guessed that Aule came here with his lovers. Aule pulled him close for a kiss, before he held him at arm’s length. “Before we move on, you need to know something, Mo. I’m not a gentle lover, it will hurt maybe. If you don’t feel good about it, you should go now.”

Mo sighed relieved. He had expected something worse, when he had locked so grave. “I like rough sex, Aule.” He wrapped his arms around the Vala’s neck and gave him a fierce kiss. Aule’s hands made short work of his clothes and before Mo knew what was happening, he was thrown on the bed. He laughed breathlessly. “How long did you wait for this opportunity?”, he asked with a wink.

Aule knelt over him and pushed him into the mattress. “Since you offered yourself to me and I knew I mustn’t take you up on it.” Mo gasped when he bit his shoulder. “This hundred years felt like an eternity.” “Why...” It felt increasingly hard to form coherent sentences as Aule’s mouth wandered deeper. Mo closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you said anything?”

A long moan escaped him when one of this warm hands wrapped around his cock. “Because I didn’t want you to do this for the wrong reasons. And now stop talking.” Aule silenced him with a stormy kiss. Mo felt panic rise in him when the Vala bent his leg up to his chest. Wasn’t he aware of how long it had been for him? But Aule was much gentler than he had implied – at least the first time.

 

Mo woke with the feeling of caressing fingers in his hair. For a moment he couldn’t sort out where he was – or when – but then he remembered. Aule. He couldn’t have slept for long, the house felt quiet, everyone was sleeping, only the two of them were awake. Mo stretched slowly and moaned softly, he was sore and every fibre of his body screamed with fatigue. “Thank you, Mo.” Aule kissed his forehead and the gentleness of the gesture stirred Mo deeply.

“You don’t have to thank me, I liked it too. It’s as I said, I like rough sex and the pain after is a part of it.” Mo snuggled up to him. “I’m home”, he whispered. “Since today it really feels like home again.” Aule embraced him tightly. “That makes me happy, Mo. I’m sorry, that in the past I made you feel like you meant nothing to me. Sleep a while, Mo, soon it will be morning.”

“Aule?”, Mo murmured sleepily. “Hm?” “Will you be here when I wake?” Aule remained silent for a moment. “If you want me to?” Mo nodded, he didn’t want to wake up alone, knowing that this had only been a diversion for Aule, an opportunity for him to let off steam, when it meant so much more to him. He belonged to him completely again. “Then I’ll be here”, Aule murmured and moved into a more comfortable position.

 

Mo breathed in deeply and stretched when he stepped out of the house. He had been outside, in the garden, but now he was free and could go where he wanted – it felt fantastic. He had decided to visit Silwen today and Yavanna had asked him to bring her some apples from the market. He patted his horse’s neck and mounted.

He couldn’t wait to get out of Valmar and when they had finally left the last houses behind he allowed Rilyasinyo to set the pace. Mo laughed with joy. How good it felt! The wind in his hair and the sun on his skin. Silwen would be happy to see him. He had wanted to visit her sooner but his new freedom had made the Valar nervous. Aule hadn’t liked it, but they had obliged him to impose restrictions on Mo. He had now to tell Aule when and where he went.

Mo didn’t care, he was just glad, that Aule had given him his instruments back before or they would have denied him. Aule had been angry, they had talked about Mo’s future, he would have liked to work in the mines, he belonged there, he had learned that in Angband, and Aule would have allowed it, but the other Valar had refused. It was too far from Valmar. Whatever. It only meant that he could work longer alongside Aule and that he had to try harder to prove that he was loyal to his Master.

 

It was almost midday when he reached Tirion, he left Rilyo outside the gates, he would find him when he needed him, and went on foot into the city. Slowly he followed the softly rising street, now and then someone greeted him respectfully, he wore Aule’s colours. He wondered what they would do, if they knew who he was. Mo shrugged, he didn’t want to think about it now. The sun shone, her warmth filled him and he was happy.

He didn’t need to ask for directions, he knew Silwen well enough to find her from a distance, he just followed her song. Finally he stood in front of a two-storeyed house in a street with the shops of other craftsmen. Mo opened the door to her shop, a bell jingled. “I’m coming!”, he heard Silwen from a room behind the counter. She beamed when she saw him. “Mo!” She was around the counter in the blink of an eye and hugged him tight. “I’m so glad to see you!”

“I hope, I’m not disturbing you”, Mo said with a grin. He was glad, too. “No, not at all. A customer had to cancel an appointment, I’m free this afternoon. I’ll close the shop and show you Tirion.” “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I only wanted to say hello.” “Nonsense. Let’s go up, I want to change.” Silwen took his hand and led him to the workshop in the back, rolls of cloth were stacked in shelves and on a dress form hung a dress of flowing, blue fabric with a green underdress shimmering through. It looked like water.

“I’m almost finished  with this and it will be fitted in a week. I can afford the luxury of a free afternoon.” “It’s beautiful, I’m impressed.” Mo followed her up. “So you aren’t just a simple seamstress, you sew for the nobility.” Silwen shrugged sheepishly. “Well... I just do, what I enjoy. If people are ready to pay a lot of money for it, it is only a confirmation for me that I do everything right.”

Mo laughed. “In that light... Where will you lead me?” “You’ll see.” Silwen winked at him. “I want to show you my favourite corners.” Mo waited in the living room while Silwen changed. He looked forward to this evening. Tirion was new to him, he had left before the elves had come to Aman.

 

Mo strolled over the market place. Yesterday they had sat on the terrace of a restaurant until late at night, Garam had joined them and Mo had been surprised how little attention he attracted. Garam was at home in this city, he belonged here. The market was bustling with buyers and Mo let himself drift for a while. He relished the feeling of being under people unrecognised. In Valmar everyone knew who he was.

He asked his way to Sinthur’s booth and finally found a young, blond elf who sold apples. “Are you Sinthur?” The boy gave him a friendly smile. “No, that’s my father. My name is...” He paused and bowed his head. “I’m Laiglas, general.” Mo groaned. Why had it to be someone who knew him? “Please.” He lifted his hands placatingly. “That’s past, I don’t want to be called that.” Laiglas smiled beautifully. “As you wish. What can I do for you?”

“Please fill me this basket with apples. Yavanna likes them.” “My father will be delighted to hear it.” Laiglas beamed and carefully selected the best apples. Mo took the basket and gave Laiglas the money. “Wait... herdir”, the elf called after him. Mo turned around surprised. Laiglas had come around his booth and offered him a little straw basket filled with wild strawberries.

“For you.” He looked at the floor shyly. “As a thankyou.” “For what?”, Mo asked confused. Laiglas sounded embarrassed, he blushed. “You won’t remember me and I was still a child. You gave me an apple. I cried because I was so hungry, you saw me and asked if I was injured and then you gave me the apple. I want to thank you.” ‘His lips look so soft.’ Mo jumped. Where had that thought come from? “Don’t thank me for something that should have been normal”, he said gruffly, startled by his own thoughts, and left. Laiglas was beautiful... and so young. Much too young for him.

 

Mo paused his flute play when someone knocked at his door. Who could it be? The melody seemed familiar... “You forgot this the other week.” Laiglas grinned at him and pushed a bowl of strawberries into his hands. “Come in”, Mo murmured as Laiglas slipped in and sat on the couch. Mo sat next to him, careful not to touch him and ate one of the strawberries. He closed his eyes when the flavour filled his mouth.

“Good?” Mo nodded enthusiastically. “This too?”, Laiglas breathed and their lips met. Before Mo knew what was happening, his hand lay in Laiglas’ nape and pulled him closer. Laiglas’ hand caressed his stomach. He mustered all his self-restraint and caught Laiglas’ hands. “No, Laiglas.” He took a shaky breath. “Why?” “How old are you?”, Mo answered with a question. "A hundred years? I would feel as if I’d have sex with a child.”

“I’m almost two hundred years old. I’m grown up! And I knew more about sex at fifty than most elves ever want to know. I want you, Mormirion, I can decide for myself. And don’t tell me, you don’t want me.” Laiglas wrenched his hand free and pressed it to his crotch. Mo shivered with pleasure. He threw all concerns overboard and pulled Laiglas close to kiss him wildly. He stroked his neck with one hand and wrapped his other around a firm buttock.

“You’re right”, Mo growled into Laiglas ear. “I wanted you since I saw you in Tirion. I dreamed of you, wondered what you would feel like.” He rubbed his finger down Laiglas’ bottom crack. Laiglas had managed to open his shirt and bit his nipple as an answer, he straddled his lap and rubbed his crotch against Mo’s. He giggled when Mo dislodged him and he landed on his back. Mo pinned his arms and licked down his neck. “Let’s see how you like this.”

He took his time opening Laiglas’ shirt, kissing every exposed spot of skin. He stopped at the waistband. Laiglas threw his head back and moaned, when he blew over the damp fabric. Mo smiled at himself, opened the laces and licked the hard flesh. Laiglas threaded his hand in his hair but Mo wouldn’t be rushed. He took him slowly in his mouth and held his hips down when Laiglas writhed under him. Laiglas whimpered desperately when he pulled back.

“Don’t stop”, he gasped, his eyes wide when Mo stood up. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” Mo grinned at him. He didn’t want to leave him, even for a moment, but he couldn’t take him without lubrication. When he cam back, Laiglas had propped himself up on an elbow and stroked himself slowly, his skin glistening with sweat and his short, blond hair stuck to his forehead. Mo undressed hurriedly and knelt between the elf’s spread legs.

“So beautiful”, he whispered and kissed him. Laiglas moaned deep in his throat when he pushed an oily finger inside. “Just take me”, he growled, his breath tickled Mo’s skin. “I’m not a virgin.” He wrapped his fingers around Mo’s arousal and Mo bit his lip. His self-control hung by a thread but he didn’t want to hurt him. Laiglas pulled him down for another kiss when he finally entered him. Mo closed his eyes, it felt so good. Finally, to have certainty that he didn’t force this elf, to know that he was here because he wanted this... Mo buried his face at Laiglas’ sweaty neck.

 

Mo brushed a strand of hair from Laiglas’ forehead and smiled gently at him. They lay tightly entangled on the couch. “Are you alright?” “It was fantastic!” Laiglas leaned into the touch. “Did you really have scruples because of my age?” “You seem so young to me.” Mo grimaced. “I shouldn’t have...” Laiglas silenced him with a kiss. “I wanted you and I liked it, that can’t be wrong. Besides, you are a Maia, don’t all elves seem young to you?”

Mo smiled and kissed him back. “Maybe you’re right. Why are you wearing your hair short?” Laiglas laughed. “I’m used to it since I was a boy and I find it more comfortable. Long hair is always in the way. You don’t wear it long either.” Laiglas tugged at Mo’s hair that was only shoulder-lengths. “I’m growing it. I was a prisoner, I wasn’t allowed to wear it longer.” Mo’s gaze slid over the ring on Laiglas’ forefinger and shot back to it when he realised, what he had seen. Melkor’s emblem on the hand of an elf.

“Where did you get this?” He took his hand and inspected it closer, but it remained what it was. It looked like Melkor’s signet ring. “Melkor gave it to me. So no one dared to touch me, he said.” “You knew Melkor?” Mo was stunned, he would have sworn every oath that Melkor hadn’t been interested in anyone but Mablung. “Knowing is too strong a word.” Laiglas moved into a more comfortable position.

“He had me, but...” Laiglas shook his head. “He was so different from what I expected.” He turned the ring on his finger. “He never hurt me. When he sent for me for the first time, I was so frightened that I didn’t manage to open my shirt because my finger’s trembled so much. I thought...” Mo saw how Laiglas’ throat moved when he gulped. “I thought, it’s over now. I was taught from childhood on that you didn’t defy the Masters, and this was Morgoth.

But he was very gentle. He undressed me and that was all he did this night. I was allowed to sleep in his bed, although he didn’t take me. And on the next day there was a breakfast that I couldn’t have dreamed of. He was never cruel, not once. I told that the Valar, too, but it wasn’t of any use.” “You spoke for Melkor?”, Mo asked surprised.

Laiglas nodded. “I saw, of course, how he treated Mablung, his slave. I never understood, why he was so friendly to me but... I liked him. I didn’t want them to hear only the bad things.” Mo embraced him and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.” “But it didn’t do any good.” “You tried, you saw that he wasn’t completely evil.” Mo gulped, he already spoke of Melkor as if he were dead. He would never see him again.

“Do you even know how long I've dreamt of sleeping with you?”, Laiglas changed the topic, his hand stroked down Mo’s chest. “Really?” This elf didn’t stop to surprise him. “Why?” “Because you are a beautiful man, Mormirion, and after Melkor took away my fear of him... before, I couldn’t have looked at one of you with desire but he made me lose my dread of you. I liked your looks and I thought that when Melkor became weary of me...”

Mo shook his head smiling. “I wouldn’t have touched you. Even if you had come to me and told me that you wanted me, I wouldn’t have believed you. I almost can’t believe it now.” “Why?” Laiglas looked puzzled. “Why now? Because you were a slave and I can't understand why you'd want someone who held you captive. Why then? Because I thought it wrong to rape someone.” Mo sighed deeply. “I’m glad that we’ve only met now that you are free.” “Don’t look so sad.” Laiglas kissed him, his hands went deeper and Mo’s thoughts that had turned into darker directions were diverted.

 

“Will we meet again, Laiglas?” Laiglas didn’t know what to answer. They stood in the courtyard of Aule’s house, he had to go home, his father would already wonder where he was. “I don’t demand anything of you. If this was only for one night, it is alright for me, but I would like to know”, Mo added when he stayed silent for too long.

Laiglas bit his lip, his relationships seldom held long. He had come here to satisfy a fantasy he had had since he was barely of age. Mormirion was a passionate lover, he had been all he had imagined him to be, but his imagination had never went further than the one night. He had dreamt of sex, but he couldn’t have imagined that Asea Mahan would want more. But did he really ask for more? Didn’t he just want another night like this? He would like that. “I don’t know yet, Mormirion. I’ll write.” Mormirion nodded and kissed his cheek. “Take care.”

 

~*~*~

 

Melkor heard the key turn in the lock and trembled. The collar cut into his sore skin when he tensed, he had learned to fear Namo’s visits. He didn’t know how long he was here already or how often Namo came. He was so hungry that it hurt. He didn’t need food to survive, at least that was left of his power, but his body ached for it. It was only one pain of many. Namo had whipped him so often that he hadn’t any untouched skin left on his back. Not, that he wasn’t aware that he did deserve all this and more.

He didn’t look up when Namo came in and closed the door behind him. The Vala said nothing, he spoke seldom, they were beyond words. Melkor smelled his scorched skin before he felt the pain. A red-hot knife cut into his back and Melkor screamed. Again and again Namo positioned the blade, hot tears ran down Melkor’s cheeks. The stench of his burning skin made him sick, he retched but there was nothing in his stomach, sharp bile burned in his throat.

Eventually Namo stopped and left him as silently as he had come, at least he hadn’t taken him today. Melkor slumped, the burns hurt. He closed his eyes exhausted. Forever. His sentence said “forever”. How should he bear this? How should he bear this even one more day?

He wondered where Mablung was. He liked to imagine what the elf would do, now that he was free. He imagined him running through woods and standing on high peaks, his long hair blowing in the wind. He rather believed that the reason for him not speaking at the trial was that he hadn’t come to Aman and not, that he had hurt him too much.

Sometimes he imagined what he would do, if he could see him again. He would kneel before him an beg his forgiveness and Mablung would forgive him because he loved him. Of course it was nonsense, the elf hated him, but he would never leave Mandos, what he envisioned would never happen, so he could at least dream.


	44. Chapter Forty-Three

Laiglas slept in his arms, they had made it to the bed this time. Mo caressed his cheek. He was happy that Laiglas had come back, he liked him very much. He had worried at first, because he had been a slave, but Laiglas never acted like a slave, more the contrary. Laiglas knew exactly what he wanted. Mo hoped, the elf would continue to want him.

He kissed his lips. Laiglas sighed and opened his eyes. He must have seen something in his face, because he said. “What are you thinking?” Mo shrugged embarrassed. “I don’t want you to leave. Not this night... or ever.” Laiglas smiled shyly. “Really? You want me as your lover ... _be_ loved?” “Yes, that’s what I want.” Mo felt that he was violently falling in love with this elf. “Will you come back?” _Please say yes._

Laiglas bit his lip. “I... I don’t know if I’m made for a long relationship. Somehow I always manage to chase my lovers away.” Mo smiled at him. “I’m persistent, you won’t get rid of me so easily. Unless you tell me plainly that you don’t want to see me anymore.” The idea already hurt despite him knowing Laiglas for so short a time. Laiglas grinned at him and kissed him. “I’ll come as often as I can.”

 

Laiglas watched the elves that walked around the market, his head resting on his hand. He sighed. Too bad that Tirion was so far from Valmar, he would have visited Mo every day if it were otherwise. As it was, he barely managed once a week and he dreaded the harvest season when he wouldn’t be able to see him for weeks. He missed him, that was new. He had had other lovers, but he had never missed them like this. It had only been sex, even if he had tried to tell himself otherwise.

It was different with Mo, he didn’t want to be with him only because he was good in bed, though it was a big advantage. Laiglas grinned and another elf, who looked in his direction smiled back. Laiglas didn’t even notice him. No, Mo was wonderful in so many ways. He could sit and talk with him for hours – or simply lie silently beside him and enjoy his presence. Was he in love? Maybe. Did Mo return his feelings? He didn’t know.

Mo was so much older than him, so much more experienced in life. No wonder that he had seen a child in him, when they first met, and he was a Maia. A Maia didn’t fall in love with an elf, did he? He only knew of Melian. He sighed again. But on the other hand, it had been Mo who had asked him to come back. Would he have done that, if he didn’t like him? But maybe he only wanted sex? Laiglas wouldn’t have cared in the beginning, but now his heart clenched at the thought. He didn’t want it to be only sex, he wanted more.

 

“Do you have the sketches of the star necklace ready?” When he didn’t get an answer, Aule turned around surprised. “Mo?” His assistant sat behind his worktable and stared enraptured into space. “Mormirion!” He started when Aule barked at him. “What? I’m sorry, herdir, I didn’t listen.” “I saw that”, Aule murmured. “The star necklace for Inwe’s wife. I wanted to see about this myself, do you remember?” “Oh. Yes, herdir, I have it somewhere here.” Mo started to rummage around.

“What’s the matter, little brother.” Aule pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. “Nothing.” Mormirion looked away, embarrassed that he was read so easily. “No, of course not.” Aule huffed. “And why are you so absent-minded that you don’t hear me when I talk to you? What do you think of, when you stare into space? Or should I say: Who? You have someone, don’t you?” “Yes, herdir. His name is Laiglas.” That dreamy gaze came back to Mo’s eyes. “He is wonderful.”

“Laiglas?” Aule frowned. “I don’t know that name. Whom does he serve?” “He... doesn’t serve anyone. He is an elf, a Noldo.” Mo squirmed uneasily. “Forgive me, herdir, I should have told you earlier.” Aule shook his head. “It’s none of my concern who you share your bed with, Mo. But... is it something serious?” “Maybe.” Mo avoided his gaze, but Aule could hear that this Laiglas meant a lot to him.

Aule took his chin and forced him to look at him. “Please, don’t forget what it means if you bind yourself to an elf. He won’t be with you forever, long maybe, but not forever.” “But we don’t know that for sure. And even if it were the case...” Mo smiled wryly. “I don’t think that one has a choice in this matter, even the likes of us. I don’t know how serious it is for him, herdir. But I love him and if it is really what elves call the One Love, I won’t close my mind to it. I won’t deny my feelings until it is too late.”

Mormirion put something in his hand. “These are your sketches. Thank you for worrying, I know you mean well.” Aule kissed his forehead. “If you found love, I'm happy for you, little brother. I see that you are happy. Take a few days off. Visit your elf.”

 

Laiglas lived with his father a little outside of Tirion, the house stood amidst an apple orchard. Mo had never been here before. He knew that Laiglas hadn’t told his father, who he was meeting, because he was sure that he wouldn’t like it. But he longed for Laiglas. His lover sat on a bench and was weaving straw-baskets for the strawberries. Mo halted in the shadow of a tree and played a few notes on his flute that sounded almost like birdsong.

Laiglas lifted his head, a smile lighting his features when he saw him. “Mo! What are you doing here?” He rushed to him and embraced him. Mo kissed him hello and enjoyed to be so close to him. “Aule gave me the day off. He noticed that I have someone.” “You told him about me? And he approves?” Laiglas looked up at him. “It didn’t escape him that I’m sometimes absent-minded recently.” Mo winked at him. “I thought of you. He doesn’t mind that I’m with an elf... if we _are_ together?”

Mo had always tried not to push him, Laiglas’ reactions had given him the impression that he wasn’t sure if he wanted a relationship that went beyond sex. “You would want that?” “Yes, I want that”, Mo answered. “I love you, Laiglas. I want to be with you.” Laiglas’ eyes shone with happiness. “I love you too, Mo. I’m so happy.” He embraced him. “I think it is time to tell my father about us. Will you stay the night?”

“If you want me to and he allows it.” Mo couldn’t stop smiling, Laiglas had told him, that he loved him, although the prospect of meeting his father worried him. “I want you to and he doesn’t get to decide this. Father is in the city. You can help me wrap up the strawberries.” “Gladly.”

He couldn’t enjoy sitting beside Laiglas as much as he would have liked. What would his father say to his son’s choice of partner? He didn’t want to argue – he didn’t want Laiglas to quarrel with his father because of him. Mo shook his head, he couldn’t change it. They spent a comfortable hour weaving baskets. Mo smiled good-naturedly when Laiglas laughed himself to tears over his first tries. “So you can’t do everything.” “I never claimed that it were so.”

Laiglas shrugged, his fingers deftly bent the straw into form. “But you are a Maia. The way the Stayers speak about you, you’d think you are almighty.” “Maybe I could make with music what you do with your fingers. But almighty?” Mo shook his head. “No. We all have our limits, even the Valar.” “They wouldn't like to hear that, I dare say.” Laiglas grinned at him. Mo laughed. “Can it be that you don’t think much of authorities?”

“Oh well.” Laiglas looked at his hands and twirled a straw between his fingers. “You know the authorities of my youth. I... let myself be ordered around long enough. Now, that I’m free, I want to live my own life without being told what I’m not allowed to do. It’s just that the Stayers talk as if they know everything better. I can’t stand it.” Mo put his arms around his shoulders. “You are right. Don’t let yourself be talked into believing that you can’t do something, but it isn’t the fault of the Valar that they talk like this.”

“You are possibly right. You have to know, after all.” Laiglas leaned his head against Mo’s shoulder. “I’m so glad that you came. I always miss you as soon as I left. If only I could come live with you.” Mo laughed. “You can.” “No, I can’t leave father alone with the orchard. But thank you for the offer, I appreciate it.” Laiglas kissed his neck, his fingers slid under Mo’s shirt. “Don’t.” Mo held his hands. “Someone’s coming. I want to make a good impression on your father.”

Laiglas pulled back a little. He was tense, Mo could feel his insecurity. “Please, don’t get angry, regardless of what he says.” Laiglas’ eyes were dark with anxiety. “Why should I be angry?” Mo kissed Laiglas’ cheek. “Everything he could say is true. I’m aware that he won’t be glad to see me.” Laiglas nodded and stood up to meet his father. “Good evening, atya.” “Good evening. Do we have a visitor?” His father squinted, the sun stood deep behind the house, he couldn’t see Mo clearly.

“Yes, father. My beloved has come to see me.” Laiglas bit his lip nervously. “Please don’t get angry.” “Why should I be angry that you bring your friend home?” His father looked warily at him. “What’s the matter, yonya?” “It’s Mormirion, atya.” His father stared at him as if he had seen a ghost, then he walked around him and planted himself in front of Mo. “What are you doing to my son, Morgothdur?”

“Father!”, Laiglas called horrified but Mo just stood up and bowed deeply. “I beg your forgiveness for intruding here, herdir, I don’t want to trouble you. I love your son.” The elf slapped his cheek. “Don’t mock me”, he growled. “And don’t dare to come close to my son.” “I decide for myself who I want to spend my time with, father!" Laiglas' eyes flashed. “Mo didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want.”

“Laiglas, would you leave me with your father for a moment”, Mo asked him. The situation was tense enough. He needed to talk alone to Laiglas’ father. Laiglas threw a flaming look at him but he went into the house. Mo turned to the older elf. “What can I do to dispel your fears, herdir?”, he asked. “As you maybe know, I’m again in Aule’s good graces, I don’t intent to betray him again. I would never hurt Laiglas.” He hated to have to use Aule’s name as a shield, but he would need it.

“If you’d had an interest in him in Angband, you’d have taken him without thinking of his feelings!” The elf trembled and that was when Mo realised, that what he had thought to be hate was fear. He was frightened of him! Mo called himself a fool. Laiglas’ father was just facing one of his former masters without any forewarning. Mo knelt before him and lowered his head. “You are right, herdir.” Mo gulped. “I understand if you can’t trust me, but I would do anything to be with Laiglas. Tell me how I can achieve your forgiveness.”

“Show me your back.” Mo looked up startled but he undressed and turned around. The elf’s hand on his back, when he traced the scars, was cool. “I was there at your trial. I saw Mandos whipping you and thought it just. I forbade Laiglas to come with me after he spoke for Morgoth, he would have spoken for you, too, if I had allowed it... Asea Mahan.” Mo jerked.

“Yes, of course I know who you are, Mormirion! What you did for us. But I haven’t forgotten either, that my wife was killed by a jealous Maia. You have convinced Aule that you are his again and maybe that is true, but how can I be sure that you don’t consider my son a plaything? Like you saw us when we were slaves?”

“I haven’t seen elves as playthings for a very long time”, Mo said softly. “I did a lot of wrong and you are right, I deserved to be punished, but I’m not like this anymore. I beg you, herdir, give me the opportunity to show you. Would you consider to let me see him only in your presence? You could be sure that I don’t abuse him and come to know me.” “I’ll think about it.” The elf sighed. “Come inside.” “Thank you, herdir.” Mo stood up and shook his hand.

 

Laiglas had watched his father and beloved talk. He buried his teeth in his lower lip. It felt strange to see Mo kneel before his father. He didn’t want his beloved to have to humble himself to be with him. What was he going to do, if his father forbade him to see Mo? He knew, that was a possibility. He couldn’t bear the thought of fighting with his father, they had been always so close. They only had had each other since Laiglas had been very little.

He didn’t want to lose him but he didn’t want to lose Mo either, he made him so happy. He was relieved when they both came in. His father wouldn’t invite Mo in, if he weren’t ready to give him a chance, would he? “Do you want to tell him, herdir?”, Mo asked humbly, he talked to his father as if he were a king – or a Vala. Did it come hard to him? His father nodded.

“You will understand that I’m not excited about your choice of lover. I have decided to give Mormirion a chance but I won’t trust him unreservedly. You will only meet him in my presence.” Laiglas looked at Mo who answered with a nod. He agreed and it was possibly the best compromise under these circumstances. “But he can stay tonight, can’t he? You’ll stay, Mo?” Laiglas looked pleadingly at the two of them. “If you agree, herdir?” His father nodded. “You can stay.” He added sternly: “But you’ll sleep on the couch.”

 

Mo woke when someone slipped under his blanket. “Laiglas?”, he whispered sleepily. The elf giggled. “It’s unlikely to be my father, don’t you think? I thought, as atya didn’t allow you to sleep in my bed, I’ll sleep in yours.” “I don’t think that was your fathers intent. Go to bed, Laiglas. Do you want to make him angry?”

Laiglas put a finger on his lips when he raised his voice. “Do you want to wake him? It isn’t as if we would do something that would displease him. I only want to sleep in your arms. Is that asked too much?” Mo sighed and kissed his forehead. “Then stay.” It felt too good to hold him, so he relented. He knew it was unwise, Sinthur wouldn’t be pleased.

“Mo?” Laiglas’ breath tickled his neck. “Hm?” “Do you mind that he distrusts you?” Mo laughed soundlessly. “I would have been surprised, if it had been otherwise”, he murmured. “It annoys me because it means that we can’t be together like we want to, but I don’t bear a grudge. He is your father, he only wants to keep you save. It’s no wonder that he doesn’t trust General Mormirion. I’ll have to prove that I’m serious, melda.”

 

Sinthur concentrated on game board and contemplated his next move. They played Ndakir, a game where you had to beat the “armies” of the other players with your own. Mormirion had taught it to him and Laiglas to ease the tension of their evenings together. Their first meetings had been tense. Mormirion hadn’t dared to touch Laiglas or to even look at him.

Sinthur had been painfully aware that he was a disturbance. It was different now. Laiglas sat next to Mormirion, almost in his lap, really, the Maia had an arm around him. Sinthur still didn’t know what to think of Mormirion. He couldn’t believe him so easily that he wouldn’t harm his son. He didn’t seem to look down on them, but maybe he was just a very good actor.

He was sorry for Laiglas, he knew that his son wanted to spend more time with Mormirion, but the idea of leaving them made Sinthur shiver. He knew what they would do then. He saw Laiglas’ fingers sneaking under Mormirion’s shirt. Could he really deny his son to be with the one he loved? He never had liked how fast Laiglas changed his lovers. Shouldn’t he be glad that he seemed to have found someone he wanted to be with? If only it weren’t Mormirion!

Sinthur realised that his straying thoughts had cost him the game. He rose sighing. “We have to go now, I have an important customer tomorrow.” He was going to meet with Garam to negotiate trade with the orcs of Tol Eressea. Mormirion took them to the door and kissed Laiglas goodbye. “I love you.” They stood with joined hands, no one wanted to let go. “I love you, too”, Laiglas answered.

Sinthur saw the longing in his son’s eyes and decided to trust his instinct and forget his distrust. “You can stay if you want, Laiglas.” He patted his son’s shoulder. “Just don't leave too late tomorrow.” Two pairs of eyes stared at him. Laiglas embraced him. “Thank you, atya”, he said and laughed. He hadn’t seen him so happy in a long time. Maybe Mormirion was the right one for him. The Maia bowed to him. “Thank you for your trust, herdir.” He was always so respectful. At first, Sinthur had felt mocked – why should a Maia bow to an elf – but by now he believed him that he meant it.

 

“Well... what are we doing now that we are alone? Laiglas smiled mischievously. “For one thing, I’ll give you a proper kiss.” Mo bent forward and kissed him long and thoroughly. He pulled the elf close and breathed his smell. “How I missed this”, he murmured and hummed when Laiglas pushed his hand down his trousers. “Yes, _that_ I missed, too.”

Laiglas laughed. “Me, too.” “I’m glad, your father let you stay”, Mo said between the kisses, he peppered down Laiglas’ neck. Gently he pushed him against the closed door and set about opening Laiglas’ clothes. “Maybe he finally realised that you don’t want to hurt me.” Laiglas moaned when Mo went to his knees and licked up his cock. “Valar, Mo!” Mo grinned to himself, Laiglas’ fingers clenched in his hair.

 

“How do you look for real?” “What?” Mo blinked at Laiglas. “What do you mean?” He was almost asleep and wasn’t sure if he was ready to answer such questions now. He felt pleasantly tired, his limbs heavy. “You can look as you wish, can’t you? But how do you really look?” Laiglas propped himself on his elbow and looked at him as if he thought his face would change any moment.

“I see.” Mo rubbed his face and thought about how to explain. “We only took visible form when we entered Arda. We don’t have a ‘true’ shape. We are, what we want to be. This”, he pointed at his body, “is only a shroud I wear like a body.” Ideally. “We distinguish from each other in our melodies, the Music Ea is made of, it is easier to tell apart than any facial feature.”

“And how do you sound?” Mo chuckled and fetched his flute. “Like this.” “It’s beautiful”, his beloved said when he stopped after a while. “Thank you. You, too”, Mo replied and kissed him gently. “We should sleep now, or you won’t be able to get up tomorrow.” “Hm. I would prefer to not be able to get up because of other reasons.” Laiglas smiled lewdly and dragged his finger down his chest. Mo followed the implied request eagerly.

 

Laiglas woke disoriented. He couldn’t have slept long, it was still dark outside. Mo didn’t lie beside him, so he sat up and looked round. He stood at the window, the fire shone on his back. Laiglas saw his shoulders shaking. He stood up and laid his chin on his shoulder, embracing him from behind. “What’s wrong?”, he murmured. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You called me ‘herdir’, but that is hardly your fault.” Mo’s voice was hoarse. “Your father has a right not to trust me.” “It isn’t your fault either!”, Laiglas answered fiercely. “I don’t want to be treated as if I would shatter if I’m touched a little rougher. Sometimes... I lose myself but it’s not your fault. I would have been raised like this regardless of your actions.”

Laiglas caressed Mo’s back. “Don’t blame yourself for it.” Mo’s eyes were full of love. “Thank you, Laiglas. Your forgiveness means a lot to me.” Laiglas kissed him gently. “There’s nothing to forgive and we really should go to sleep now. Are you coming, Mo? Promise me that you won’t brood.” Mo sighed but he turned around and returned his embrace. “I promise. You are right, it’s late.”

Laiglas hoped, his father saw how much Mo regretted, what he had done. If he could have seen him right now, he wouldn’t have had doubts about him. “Promise me that you’ll tell me if I do something that you don’t want”, Mo said softly. Laiglas kissed his forehead. “Of course. I have a mind of my own, but you know that. I take no nonsense, not even from you.”

 

~*~*~

 

“Mormirion?” He turned around when he heard his name and saw Sinthur walk up to him, leading a horse. “Good afternoon, herdir. Is Laiglas with you?” He looked around hopefully. “No, I just brought Yavanna a few of my apples. Are you coming to the Festival of Lights?” “Hardly.” Mo smiled noncommittally. “I don’t think I would be welcome.”

He hesitated but he would be honest with Sinthur, too much was at stake. “And it doesn’t suit me to celebrate my own arrest. It was good that Angband fell, but it is all too near to me. I feel remorse for my deeds but I can’t celebrate, when I remember so clearly how they treated Melkor.” Sinthur didn’t let show what he thought of his words. “Laiglas would be happy if you came. Think about it.”

The elf patted his shoulder and took his leave. Mo stayed back and thought about his words. He couldn’t celebrate Melkor’s surrender and humiliation – or his own. Laiglas’ freedom? The successful escape of the slaves? That was worth celebrating. He needed to talk to Aule, he didn’t know if he would even take him with him. Mo turned around and walked back to the house, Aule would be in the workshop at this time of the day.

“Do you have a moment for me, Master?” Aule looked up from a sketch. “What’s on your mind, Mo?” “Would you allow me to go with you to the Festival of Lights?” Mo had his heart in his mouth, while Aule scrutinized him. What did his Master think why he asked? “Laiglas will be there and his father more or less invited me”, he added an explanation. “I’m happy for you.”

Aule knew of Sinthur’s reservations, Mo had told him, he had to be very careful with all he did. No one should think that he didn’t deserve his release. “You can accompany me.” “Thank you, Master.” Mo bowed. “I’ll ride to Tirion, by your leave, and visit Silwen. I wouldn’t want to disgrace you by showing up in work clothes.”

Mo smiled, she would be overjoyed to get to sew something for him. “If you hurry, you’ll find Silwen still in Valmar. She met with Maitilanya, she should still be here.” “Thank you, Master.” Mo took his leave and went to search for her.

 

The Festival of Lights was celebrated on the day Angband had fallen. The great meadow before the gates of Valmar was set with tables and benches, a big fire burned. Everyone carried a lamp – the light prevailed over the darkness – it was beautiful. As soon as Aule dismissed his retinue, Mo went in search for Laiglas. His beloved didn’t know that he was here, he wanted it to be a surprise.

He found him with his father and a few other elves sitting at a long table and eating. They talked cheerfully, Mo hesitated to disturb them and waited to be noticed. Sinthur saw him first, he smiled at Mo and turned to Laiglas. “You have a visitor, yonya.” Laiglas jumped up and kissed him with ardour. His lips tasted of the wine he had been drinking. “Why didn’t you tell me, that you were coming?” Mo smiled at his indignation. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“That was successful. Sit beside me.” Laiglas pulled him down on the bench. An elf with a long scar on his cheeks watched him with narrowed eyes. “You are Mormirion”, he stated accusingly. He knew exactly who he was. “I am.” “And you dare to come here on this day?”

“Let him be, Aeglam!”, Laiglas snarled at him. “He is my partner. And if not for him, we wouldn’t be here now, have you forgotten?” Mo put his hand on Laiglas’ arm to soothe him. He felt the mood change. “Let it go, melda, he is right, I shouldn’t be here. Will you dance with me?” A group of musicians had started to play. Laiglas gritted his teeth but he nodded and smiled at him. “I’d love to!”

 

Galathil’s hand shook when he reached for his cup and took a long swig. He sat only a few places away from Sinthur and to suddenly be confronted with Mormirion had dismayed him. “I’m shocked that you allow him to seduce your son”, he said to Sinthur who watched Laiglas and Mormirion dancing.

“I thought so at first, too, but Laiglas was already head over ears in love with him. I only let them see each other when I was with them, but... I believe Mormirion that he loves Laiglas and isn’t only playing with him. I haven’t forgotten his past but I’m starting to believe that I can forgive him.” “Mo is a nice guy”, Silwen piped in and cut Galathil a look. “You should know. Has he ever touched you?”

Galathil lowered his gaze, heat rising to his cheeks. “No”, he murmured. “He didn’t.” “Precisely. He won’t hurt your son, Sinthur.” “Says the woman who married an orc”, Aeglam grumbled. “And what do you mean by that?” Silwen narrowed her eyes. “Garam is an elf, the Valar decided so”, Galathil aided her. He didn’t like to think of his past and didn’t think that he could ever look at Mormirion – or any of them – without fear, but Garam was his friend. Aeglam was just jealous, Galathil suspected that he would have liked to marry Silwen himself.

Sinthur listened only with half an ear, he was busy watching his son dance. Laiglas shone with happiness. “May I ask you to dance with me, Sinthur?” He startled, when Yavanna appeared beside him. “Of course, Mistress.” He stood up and kissed Yavanna’s hand before he led her on the dance floor. “They are a lovely couple, aren’t they?”

Yavanna laughed, when he gave her a confused look. “Mormirion and your son.” “I’m not sure if I want them to be a couple”, Sinthur admitted. “Because of Mo’s past?” Yavanna’s eyes were full of understanding. “It must be hard for you to overlook that, but you couldn’t make Laiglas a better present than giving Mo your trust and Mo wouldn’t fail you.”

The dance was over, Yavanna stepped back. “You want your son to be happy, don’t you? Look at him, Mo makes him happy.” Sinthur knew that she was right – and who was he to contradict a Valie?

 

They only stopped dancing when the musicians packed their instruments away. For a moment they stood in an embrace, they didn’t want to part. “That was a wonderful evening. Thank you for coming, melda.” “Everything for you, Laiglas.” Mo kissed him gently, it was time to say goodbye. “Mormirion?” He turned to Sinthur and bowed, the elf sounded agitated. Had he done something wrong?

“Look after my son’s heart.” Mo’s heart started to race. He didn’t allow himself to hope, didn’t want to interpret the words. “I kept you away from each other long enough. You aren’t evil, I know that now.” Sinthur took Mo’s face between his hands. “I forgive you”, he said gently. “You make my son happy.” Mo felt his tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care. He had hoped so much for this.

“Thank you. I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me. Not only that you allow me to be with Laiglas, but also your forgiveness.” His voice was husky, but he was happy. He almost fell over when Laiglas embraced him passionately. “I’m coming with you tonight”, he stated. Mo laughed. “You can come with me as often as you like. Thank your father.”

Laiglas grinned, as happy as himself, and embraced his father. “Thank you, atya, you’ve made me so happy. You won’t regret your desicion.” Sinthur smiled and kissed his forehead. “I hope so, Laiglas, I hope you’ll be happy with him.” Mo led Laiglas away from the meadow. The party was coming to an end but there were still small groups everywhere, now and then someone laughed. Mo wanted to sing with happiness, he wanted to embrace the whole world.

“I don’t think that I can do much more than sleep today”, Laiglas murmured when they finally fell into Mo’s bed. “What a shame, now that we can be together.” Mo laughed softly. “Never mind. We have all the time in the world. I don’t mind at all to lie in bed with you and hear your breath. I love you.” He kissed him slowly. “Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”, he asked. Laiglas nodded excitedly, Mo sang so beautifully... He fell asleep with a smile, Mo’s song in his ears.


	45. Chapter Forty-Four

_234 S.A._

Mablung stood at the border of the archery range. There was a contest today to recruit new archers for the border guard and Linqil wanted to be admitted. He was a good hunter, Mablung was sure that he could win this contest if he kept his nerve. Nenwing admittedly would prefer it if her son didn’t become a soldier, she was afraid for him. Mablung understood it, but he understood, too, that Linqil wanted to go his own way.

He had been surprised that Linqil had been content to be a shepherd for so long, it wasn’t his way. Mablung laughed to himself, he wouldn’t have thought, that it was his own way either. He was happy here, as happy as he could be without Melkor  - and still, he sometimes wondered how it would be to just walk away. He had left Aman because he wanted to get away from his father and to see the world. Nothing stopped him from going on a journey.

Linqil didn’t need him any longer, he was grown up. His gaze wandered to Nenwing and their father and he told himself: ‘Someday.’ It was Linqil’s turn again. He stood on the line, his eyes fixed on the target a hundred paces away, while he lifted the bow and pulled the string to his ear. He held it for a moment before he sent the arrow on his way. Only when the arrow stroke the target, did he lower the bow. The referee shouted a score and Mablung held his breath, Linqil was one of three who had the same score. They would shoot this out. He saw Linqil close his eyes, getting ready for his next shot.

 

Linqil beamed. “I’m in!”, he called. “I’m a border guard now. I haven’t won but they were skilled competitors, I came by fairly.” Mablung laid his arm around his shoulders. “Be honest, it peeves you that you aren’t the best.” Linqil shrugged awkwardly. “A little, but it’s more important that I’m a guard now. I get my badge tomorrow, they need to engrave my name first.” Mablung smiled at Linqil's happiness.

“I’m very proud of you, ion.” Nenwing kissed his cheeks. “Take good care of yourself!” “Of course, mother.” Mablung grinned at him. “You’ll have to listen to that every time you go on duty, you’ll see.” He shrank away giggling when Nenwing punched him in the side. “I have a present for you”, he added. Linqil took the long package and opened it curiously. “New arrows! Thank you, uncle!”

“I don’t want you to be eaten by a spider”, Mablung joked. Lately, spiders the size of small horses had been seen in the wood, that was why the guard was reinforced. Mablung feared that he knew where the animals came from, he didn’t want to think of it. “They have mithril tips, you need decent weapons.” It had cost him a small fortune, the metal was hard to come by as Oropher detested both Dwarves and Noldor so much.

 

When Carnlóme emerged from a sea of pain and regret, his first thought went to Nenwing and his unborn child. “You love her very much.” Carnlóme looked up to his Master who stood over him. “Yes, I do.” Carnlóme climbed to his knees. “Please, herdir, tell me, how is she and the child? Has she forgotten me?” “No, little brother, she hasn’t forgotten you and they are both well.” Orome smiled at him. “I know what you don’t dare to ask, so say it.”

“Can I... can I go to her, herdir?”, Carnlóme uttered his heart’s desire. “May I live with her?” “You may. But don’t forget again, whom you serve.” “Never, herdir.” Carnlóme bowed his head until his forehead touched the floor. “Stand up, Carnlóme.” When he stood, Orome took his hand and slipped a bronze ring over his wrist. “Mine.” “Forever, herdir”, Carnlóme answered with husky voice. “Your elves live in the Greenwood. I’ll take you there.” Orome took up bow and quiver, he had leaned them against a tree, and gave them to him.

“Follow me, hunter.” They ran through Orome’s woods that united all of Arda’s woods and then they were no longer in Aman. Carnlóme sniffed the air that smelled indefinably different on Arda. His Master stopped and pointed to a house that could be glimpsed between the trees. “You’ll find them there. I trust you to do better this time, Carnlóme.” “Yes, herdir.” Carnlóme bowed deeply and turned to the house. It was a simple wooden house, he could hear voices from inside that joked with each other.

He hesitated in front of the door and couldn’t bring himself to knock. What if she had another lover? And his son, had he been raised to hate him? He shrank back when the door opened. Carnlóme’s heart sank when he looked at a male elf. She _had_ someone else. “Come in, herdir. My sister will be happy to see you.” “Sister?” He noticed vaguely that the elf seemed to know him. “You _do_ want to see Nenwing, don’t you?” The elf looked unsure. “Yes.” “Then come in, herdir. She’s waited for you all this time.”

The elf led him through a short corridor into a kitchen. “We have a visitor, Nenwing.” Carnlóme held his breath when his love turned around and looked at him. She gave a sharp scream and shrank back. “It can’t be”, she whispered. “You aren’t real.” Carnlóme smiled gently. “I’m as really as I can be. After five hundred years of captivity, I return to you. Do you still want me, Nenwing?”

She flung her arms around his neck. “I dreamed for so long that you’d return. I waited for you.” She cried on his shoulder. “I’m here now, meleth, you don’t have to cry anymore. I’ll never leave again.” Carnlóme buried his head in her hair. “I missed you so much.”

 

Mablung couldn’t bear any longer to watch them holding each other and feel Carnlómes happiness. He was happy for Nenwing but it reminded him, that he would never see Melkor again. The pain stabbed at his heart. He left the room through the backdoor without making a sound and started to chop wood. It was better to let them have time alone. The exertion chased the pain from his thoughts, but it couldn’t close the wound in his heart.

 

They sat down at the dinner table. Carnlóme had so many questions. “How is our child? Is it a boy or a girl? What did you call it? And your brother... you never told me of him.” “You have a son Carnlóme, his name is Linqil. He is an archer, serving in the border guard.” Nenwing laughed with tears in her eyes. “He reminds me so much of you. He is on duty, but he’ll be home next week, you can meet him then.”

“I look forward to it. Will he... does he know?” Carnlómes heart fluttered, he didn’t know what to expect. All this, it exceeded his wildest dreams. “He knows the truth, he knows that you aren’t evil. You are his father, of course he will like you.” Carlóme smiled, she had always been able to read him. He wasn’t surprised that she had heard his unspoken question. But he wasn’t so sure if she was right, he had been gone for so long. He listened to the music of the elf, Nenwing’s brother, who had left them. He sounden familiar - and pained.

“Should I know your brother?” “You should.” Nenwing smile sounded a little sad. “He is my adoptive brother, we only met after Angband’s fall. Mablung was Melkor’s slave.” “Of course!” Now he remembered him. “He found me in the woods when I was just giving birth. He stayed and brought me home. Father adopted him so he could be with Linqil and me.”

Carnlóme felt a twinge of jealousy, if only he could have been there for Nenwing instead of the elf. “I missed so much”, he said sadly. “I didn’t see Linqil make his first steps. I should have been the one to teach him riding and shooting. He should have gone to his first hunt with me. I’ll never know how he was as a child and he will never see me as his father. He is grown up, I’m a stranger to my own son.” Nenwing took his hand. “He will like you, I’m sure he will. I wish he were here right now.”

 

Mablung sneaked into the house when he was sure that they slept. He couldn’t speak with Nenwing now, she would know immediately that something was wrong. Before he could close the door to his room, he was stopped by Carnlóme. “I need to talk to you”, he whispered. “Come in, herdir.” Mablung shut the door behind them. Mablung couldn’t look him in the eye, regardless of how firmly he told himself that he wasn’t a slave anymore.

“What can I do for you, herdir?” Carnlóme grimaced. “Not ‘herdir’, please. I’m just Carnlóme. You don’t like that I came back, do you?” “No! I’m glad that you are here, happy for Nenwing. She missed you very much and Linqil finally gets to meet his father.” Mablung played nervously with the hem of his shirt. “Why do you avoid me then?” “I don’t. I just wanted to give you and Nenwing time alone,  the house is very small.”

Mablung wouldn’t tell him, what the true reason was. Although Carnlóme would know what had happened with Melkor. Should he ask him? He needed to ask him! Finally he could have certainty and maybe Melkor’s sentence wasn’t as hard as he thought. “Melkor... how was he punished?”, his voice trembled. “He was imprisoned in Mandos, forever this time.” Carnlóme shook his head. “I was such an idiot. I... I didn’t even have a good reason for joining him. I just crossed his path.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I don’t harbour a grudge against you.” Mablung swallowed hard. ‘Forever...’ How could it have been otherwise? But somehow it made the pain worse to know it for certain. He blinked to keep the tears at bay, but Carnlóme noticed anyway, that something was wrong. “What is with you? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. But I just lost him forever.” Mablung sniffled. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it, it doesn’t change anything.” Carnlóme opened his mouth. “Please”, Mablung whispered again. He didn’t want to answer questions right now. “As you wish.” Carnlóme bowed. “Thank you for not bearing ill feelings against me.”

 

Linqil whistled as he walked along the path. He should be on his way home right now, to show his mother that he hadn’t lost any limbs, but he wanted to meet his beloved first. His mother lived so far in the wood, Camquen was much closer. He climbed the rope ladder that led to Camquen’s home and smiled when he saw his beloved stand on the platform in front of the house. He had put his easel outside and painted.

“How is the king’s painter?”, he asked laughing. Camquen turned around. “Still alive, guardsman?” He grinned. “Come here, kid.” Linqil let himself be pulled into an embrace and kissed him. “A lot going on at the border?”, Camquen sounded genuinely worried. “The usual. What are you painting?” Linqil didn’t want to talk about dark things. “Oh, just the wood. When will you model for me?”

Linqil shrank back when Camquen dragged a brush down his nose. “You...” He laughed and kissed him again. “I’d be happy to stay for a while but I need to go home, to calm mother.” His beloved rolled his eyes. “You put up with too much, Linqil, you aren’t a child anymore.” “Nah, let her mother me when I’m home. Besides, I like to eat food that I don’t have to hunt and gut first.” Linqil winked at him. “I’ll come back as soon as mother releases me from her care.”

He ran nimbly through the wood, he knew every tree here, every root, he would have even found his way at new moon. When he came closer to the house he realised that someone was there. Someone foreign, someone powerful. Mórhuin felt a little like that. He heard Mablung chopping wood behind the house and walked to him first. Mablung looked up and wiped the sweat from his brow when he heard him.

“Linqil! We didn't anticipate you before tomorrow. Nice to have you back.” Linqil embraced his uncle warmly. “I can go, if you want”, he said, grinning impishly. “No way! You have paint on your nose.” Mablung winked at him. Linqil’s hand went to his nose and scratched at the dry paint, he had forgotten it. “Oh.” He felt himself blush and hoped that his uncle wouldn’t notice.

“Who is visiting?”, he tried to change the topic. Mablung became serious. “Your father came back – Carnlóme.” “My... father?” Linqil lost his ground. Why did something like this always happen when he was happy. “Aren’t you happy to finally meet him?”, Mablung asked astonished. “But I don’t know him! How should I call him? I can’t call him 'father'! You are more my father than he is.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!”, Mablung snapped at him. “He is your father, it’s not his fault that he couldn’t be here when you were a child. He longs to get to know you. Go in there and talk to him. At least give him a chance. What do you have to lose?” ‘You.’ Linqil embraced Mablung. “I love you, uncle”, he said before he walked through the backdoor. Mablung followed him with his gaze, a little surprised about his words.

 

Linqil sniffed. “Mmh, smells delicious.” His mother whirled around and embraced him. “Are you well? Are you unhurt?” Linqil returned the embrace. “I’m fine, Nana. We have an important visitor, don’t we?” His mother beamed at him. “Yes, your father came home.” Linqil knew that he mustn’t expect sensitivity from her, she was too happy, still he winced at her words. “He is in the living room, why don’t you speak with him, while I finish the meal.”

Carnlóme stood up when he entered the room and bowed formally. “Welcome back, Linqil, I’m glad to finally meet you.” “My mother told me a lot about you”, Linqil answered haltingly. He pointed at the couch. “Please, take a seat.” Linqil sat in the chair opposite of him and plucked at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. He didn’t know what to say. “I hope you had an easy watch?” Linqil nodded. “Yes.” “Is everything alright?” Carnlóme looked seriously at him and he felt worried.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just a little too much at the moment. I didn’t expect to meet you.” Carnlóme nodded bleakly. “I understand. I wish, we weren’t so unfamiliar to each other. I wish, I hadn’t been so foolish. I realise that you will maybe never see me as your father, but maybe we can at least be friends?” Linqil was surprised, he hadn’t expected Carnlóme to understand his feelings, but he was relieved. “Yes, I think we could try to be friends.”

The Maia smiled shyly at him. “You are an archer, Nenwing tells me. Would you go hunting with me while you are home. I’d like to come to know you if you let me.” Before he had met Carnlóme, he had intended not to like him, his loyalty belonged to Mablung, he didn’t want to lose him. Linqil now realised that it was hard to be hostile to someone who's music was so full of longing. He smiled back. “That can be arranged. How long have you been here?”

“A few days. I’m a little out of date with my information. How does it look outside?” Linqil cocked his head. “Something changes. When I was a child, the worst thing you could meet in the woods was a bear or the occasional wolf, but now these spiders are everywhere and they get as big as horses. They already ate a few of our sheep, Mablung now puts them in the stable each night and doesn’t stay outside himself.

I can only think of one place where they might come from and that troubles everyone. When the king hears who you are, he will want to speak with you.” Linqil swallowed hard. He knew how Oropher had treated Mablung at his arrival. What would he do to Carnlóme? “I think, it might be better if the king doesn’t learn who he is”, Nenwing said. “I, at least, don’t intend to tell him. Come, the meal is ready.” Linqil didn’t feel quite at ease at the thought of having secrets from his king. That could be interpreted as high treason.

 

Mablung was restless – and very quiet. Even if Linqil hadn’t heard, he would have noticed his strange behaviour. He seemed absent, deep in thought and almost couldn’t be brought to talk. He answered questions monosyllabically and with lowered head. Linqil suspected Carnlóme’s presence to be the cause. When Mablung made himself scarce after the meal, Linqil decided that he wouldn’t stay downstairs either.

Normally the sat together at evening and told stories while they did little chores. Mablung never went to bed early when Linqil was home. Linqil excused himself with being tired after the long ride. His mother was disappointed but she let him go. He was reluctant to walk into Mablung’s room without knocking but he didn’t want his mother to notice that he didn’t sleep, either. Before he could make up his mind, he heard Mablung say: “Come in, Linqil.” Of course he had noticed him.

Mablung lay on the bed, curled up, the room was full of sadness, Linqil swallowed the tears that came to his eyes. “Why didn’t you stay with us?” Mablung avoided his eyes. “I thought, you’d like to be alone with your mother and Carnlóme.” “You know that isn’t true. What’s wrong, Mablung?” Linqil kneeled beside the bed and flung his arms around him. “I don’t want you to be sad”, he whispered and felt like a child again, when he had followed Mablung everywhere because he had thought it was being alone that made him sad.

Mablung didn’t want to burden Linqil with his problems but he knew that he couldn’t lie to him. “It isn’t your fault – and it isn’t Carnlómes, either, but... When I look at him, all these memories come up. I tried to forget Melkor and for a time I managed at least to not think about him, although the emptiness in my heart is always there, but I can’t do even that now. Carnlóme is a part of my past that suddenly came back.

I was trained to serve the likes of him, that behaviour has been ingrained into me and although he does his best – you must believe me that it isn’t his fault – I have to remind myself constantly to not call him ‘herdir’, to not fall down on my knees before him. I have to force myself to talk normally with him! And I miss...” Mablung’s breath hitched. “I miss Melkor so much.” He fought his tears, he didn’t want to break down in front of Linqil, he had told him too much already. “I intend to go away.”

He had thought about it already before Carnlóme had come and now he was sure. “No! You can’t go.” Linqil embraced him tighter. “You taught me not to run away from my fears, so don’t do it yourself! Please, Mablung, I need you. There is so much I can only tell you.” Mablung felt that he would tell him now that he was in love. He had suspected it for a while. “There’s this Sinda, Camquen, he’s called that because he can paint so well that it seems as if the paintings tell you something. And he, well, I love him.”

Mablung smiled and patted his back. “And that is where you are when no one can find you.” He kissed his brow. “I already suspected something like that, although I didn’t know, if it was a woman or a man.” “You don’t think it’s bad?” “I don’t believe that I’m entitled to criticise your choice of lover. And why should I think it to be bad?” Linqil blushed. “They say, you can feel lust for men but that love is something you can only experience with a woman.”

Mablung shook his head. “Don’t let those people dictate how you live your life. You can find love at the strangest places and in so many different ways. If you love a man, then it is right. What does he say to it?” “He says, he likes to have me around, but he thinks that I’m too young to know, if I love him. He is a Doriathrim.” That meant he was significantly older than Linqil, maybe even older than Mablung. “Do you two have sex?” Linqil blushed violently. “Not... really”, he answered with strained voice.

Mablung felt that Linqil was embarrassed by the topic, as most elves were. He didn’t understand it, but that maybe was due to the fact that his sense of shame had been trained out of him long ago. “And you, have you had sex before?” Many Sindar and Nandor thought that sex was something that should only happen inside a marriage, he wasn’t sure how much experience Linqil had. Linqil shook his head, too bashful to talk.

“Promise me that you won’t  let yourself be persuaded to do something you don’t really want. Don’t do it just for him, it would only hurt you. Tell him, if you don’t feel ready, he is much older than you, he’ll understand.” ‘And if he doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve you.’ But he didn’t say that out loud.

“I promise”, Linqil whispered. He knew why that was so important for Mablung. He hadn’t had a choice, he had had to do what his Master ordered. “Will you promise me something, too? Promise that you’ll stay.” Mablung sighed. “Alright, I’ll stay – for a little longer at least.” He couldn't leave him now. Not when he begged him not to go.


	46. Chapter Forty-Five

Mo sat cross-legged on the couch and let the thongs of the whip glide through his fingers. He had hesitated for a long time to tell Laiglas of his special preferences, he still wasn’t sure if he should tell him – or how. Laiglas was a little sensitive when it came to Angband and this would surely remind him of it. Mo sighed. Would he understand? Or would it disgust him?

“Mo?” He looked up alarmed when he heard the trembling voice. Laiglas stood in the door, his face ashen, when their eyes met, he turned around and ran. “Laiglas!” Mo realised how this had to look for Laiglas. He jumped up and ran after him. Laiglas was fast and his despair gave him strength, Mo almost didn’t catch him but finally he managed to grab his shoulder and stop him. “Let me go!”, Laiglas snapped at him, panic in his music. “Wait, please.” Mo gasped. “Let me explain. It’s not as you think!”

“What is there not to understand?” Laiglas wanted to sound cold but Mo saw the tears in his eyes, he looked terribly young. “I thought you were different!” “I know what you think you have seen, but it isn’t like that! I could never hurt you, Laiglas.” Mo wanted to caress his cheek but Laiglas turned his head away. “What else did you want to do with it?” Mo sighed. “May I tell you this at home? I don’t want to talk about it in public.” Laiglas looked warily at him – and it hurt so much, that look! “Very well.”

Mo racked his brain how to explain to him, but when they walked back through the open door he wasn’t a step closer. He lifted the whip from the floor. Laiglas looked at it as if it were alive and would jump at him. Mo sighed again. “Actually, I wanted to explain to you as gently as possible that I like to be beaten. Pain arouses me. But that isn’t important now. You have to believe me that I would never do anything against your volition. I love you, Laiglas, I would never hurt you. I didn’t want to frighten you. Please, forgive me.”

Mo knelt and kissed Laiglas’ hands. He wanted to show his beloved how important it was to him that he believed him. Laiglas sobbed. “Please, stand up.” Mo hugged him when he flung himself at him. “I was so scared”, Laiglas whispered. “I thought, my father was right after all and you only disguised your true self until now. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Mo sat down and pulled Laiglas on his lap. “In light of both our pasts, your line of thought is very understandable.” Laiglas relaxed in his arms. “I’m relieved that it’s different. I don’t want to lose you.” “I’ll always be there for you, Laiglas, as long as you want me to. I love you”, Mo answered.

 

Later, Mo woke and realised that Laiglas was awake, too. “Can’t you sleep?” He caressed his back. “I need to think – about what you told me.” “That I like pain?” Laiglas nodded and turned around so that he faced him. “I don’t understand how anyone can like to be hurt.” Mo smiled sheepishly. “I don’t think there’s much to understand. It simply is as it is, I can’t explain.” “So you want me to beat you?” “Not, if you feel uncomfortable with it. I can live without I just thought you should have the choice. You should know me completely.”

Laiglas worried his lower lip with his teeth. “The scars on your back, are they from... this? They aren’t only from your punishment.” Mo started, he had never told Laiglas about Sauron, but now he had to. “Not really. Sauron gave me this scars and he often went past my limits. He forced me, he treated me like a slave.” Mo curled his lips, he hated to have to remember it. “And still you liked it?” Laiglas sounded unbelieving.

“No. I hated to have to allow him to use me like this. Melkor taught me the pleasure that pain can give. Before the first great war he often took one of us to his bed. Sauron only dared to touch me when Melkor was imprisoned.” “But you could have told him, when he came back.” Mo shook his head. “Melkor trusted Sauron, he would have believed his version of the story and that would have left me even more at his mercy.” Laiglas kissed him gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not!” Mo smiled sourly. “If this hadn’t happened to me, I would have never started to think about the slaves. After I escaped Sauron, I never touched a slave when I could avoid it. I knew how they felt and I didn’t want to make anyone feel that way.” Laiglas snuggled against him. “You are so kind, Mo. I can’t understand why you joined Melkor, that doesn’t fit the man I know.” “I wanted to be free, I felt that Aule didn’t appreciate me enough. Melkor gave me the acknowledgement I wanted from Aule. Later I served him for his sake, I liked Melkor very much. And you mustn’t forget that I _had_ slaves and that I enjoyed to have them.”

“But not anymore?” Laiglas’ gaze was unsure, he didn’t know what to think. “No, I could never force anyone to do this, and especially not you.” Mo thought of Mablung, of the time when Melkor had believed his slave had cheated him with Sinthoras, when the elf had offered himself to him. He had enjoyed to beat him and when he had seen that Mablung liked it, too, it had been like a revelation to him. They were kindred spirits in this, they understood each other.

Sometimes he wondered what could have been, if Sinthoras hadn’t died and Melkor hadn’t needed Mablung so much? ‘Nonsense’, he berated himself. ‘Mablung loved only Melkor and you shouldn’t think like that while you hold your beloved in your arms.’ “What’s wrong?” Laiglas knew him well enough to know, that his thoughts had wandered off. “Nothing.” Mo kissed him, he didn’t want to tell him about Mablung, he wouldn’t understand. “As you wish.” Laiglas shrugged. “Keep your secrets.” Mo opened his mouth but thought better of it, he didn’t know what to say.

“I'm considering it”, Laiglas added after a while. “I never had such ideas.” Mo nodded and kissed his temple. “It doesn’t have to be a whip, we can start slowly. You could spank me.” “Like a naughty boy?” He could hear Laiglas’ grin in his voice, that raised his hope that he wouldn’t take it too seriously. He shook his head. “Like your lover who happens to like it. I like pain, not humiliation. I won’t act as if I were your slave.” “And I wouldn’t want you to.” Laiglas snuggled closer. “If I held a grudge, if I longed for revenge, what is between us now, could not be.”

 

Mo stretched his tired muscles as he walked up the stairs to his home. It had been a long day, he looked forward to a hot bath – and to see Laiglas. His beloved would stay for a while. It was winter, the trees slept and his father didn’t need him so urgently. He smelled food when he opened the door and smiled at Laiglas, who waited at the dining table. “You got us dinner?” He kissed him. “I’ll take a quick shower, I’ll be right back.”

He pulled off his damp, dirty work clothes and stepped under the warm water that came from a pipe high on the wall. Aule’s people were very active and had developed a way to bring hot water into all rooms. It was an amenity he appreciated very much. Mo sighed blissfully, the heat let the tenseness bleed from his body. He washed the stone dust from his hair and stepped out of the shower. He put on linen trousers and didn’t bother to don a shirt, his wet hair stuck to his back, he could have dried it in the blink of an eye but he liked the feeling.

Laiglas’ gaze wandered over his chest when he sat down at the table. It wasn’t as if he _needed_ food, when Laiglas wasn’t here he often didn’t bother with it, but it tasted good. “I took a few days off so we can be together.” He would enjoy Laiglas’ presence. Laiglas beamed at him. “You are a gem, Mo. I know I came on short notice, I should have sent a letter.” “Nonsense, it isn’t as if I’m chained to my work. I have time. Do you want to do anything in particular? There’s a lot of snow this year, we could make a ski tour. There’s a cave I’d like to show you.”

“A cave? Is there something special to it?” Laiglas was busy methodically consuming a piece of venison. Mo smiled to himself, of course he knew where this came from and he felt remorse at it, but it was so adorable with what devotion Laiglas ate. “You’ll see when we get there, but it works only in winter, it has to be cold.” “We can go there”, Laiglas grinned at him, “but maybe not tomorrow.” “What is tomorrow?” “Well, I think you might not want to walk far tomorrow if I spank you later.”

Mo shivered with pleasure. “So you thought it over.” “I believe it is worth a try.” Laiglas’ grin became a little uncertain. “Don’t laugh at me, but how do you want to do it? I only mean: Won’t you think it humiliating if you have to kneel beside me.” Mo shook his head. “Do you feel humiliated when you go down on me and kneel to do it?” “No, but... it’s this whole thing. It’s a punishment, a punishment for a child.” “I never was a child, Laiglas.”

Mo cocked his head, his chin rested in the palm of his hand. He wondered if Laiglas had been punished like that, but he didn’t ask, not now. If Laiglas thought too much of Angband it would destroy the mood. “I don’t have memories of past embarrassments. The first one who treated me like this was Melkor and the only embarrassing thing was that I enjoyed it so much from the beginning.” Mo moved to Laiglas’ side of the table and took his hand. Laiglas hand long fingers, his skin was calloused, you could tell that he worked with his hands.

He pressed a kiss to his palm. “When I think of lying over your thighs while your hand makes my skin burn...” Mo kissed his hand again. “It’s deeply arousing.” He saw Laiglas lick his lips and pulled him slowly to his feet. “Give me this, melindo.” Mo moaned softly when Laiglas rubbed his hand over his crotch. The elf kissed him slowly, his tongue pushed into Mo’s mouth. Mo let him take the lead, he didn’t care much for humiliation but he didn’t mind to let him lead. He realised that Laiglas needed that, it was hard enough for him to understand.

They moved to the bed, kissing. Mo unbuttoned Laiglas’ shirt and Laiglas shivered when his warm fingers touched his skin. Mo laid a pillow on the floor and knelt on it. He looked into Laiglas’ eyes when he opened his trousers and pushed them down,  then he bowed over his knees. He breathed in deeply when Laiglas squeezed his buttock. “Are you sure?”, he asked, his voice trembled a little. “Completely”, Mo answered, he yelped when the first slap landed on his skin.

He had anticipated Laiglas to approach the matter more tentatively, but obviously he compensated his insecurity with hitting harder. “Was that to hard? I’m sorry!” Laiglas sounded alarmed. Mo shook his head. “Don’t stop.” It took Laiglas a few more slaps to find the right mixture of force and angle, but he read his responses well. Mo allowed himself to drift off. His skin burned, he pressed his forehead against the mattress and rubbed himself against Laiglas.

He could feel that Laiglas was aroused, too, in his melody and in the way he shivered when Mo’s stomach moved over his lap. Laiglas squeezed his buttock again and the sharp pain shot directly to his loins. “So beautiful.” Laiglas stroked the hair aside and kissed his neck. “It’s so beautiful to watch you coming so close with only my slaps. I want you, Mo.” He heard a stopper being pulled from a flask and rocked against Laiglas’ fingers that pushed between his glowing buttocks.

“More, Laiglas, more!” “Do you want me?” “Yes!” Mo moaned when Laiglas found the right angle with his fingers. Laiglas took his chin with his free hand and pulled him up to kiss him, his fingers still thrust into him. Mo whimpered into the kiss, he trembled with pleasure. Finally Laiglas pulled back and Mo knelt on the bed, his legs spread wide. He was so ready, he fought to hold back his release.

“Do you want it rough today?” Laiglas’ breath was fast. That Mo liked rough sex wasn’t new to him. “Do you want me to slam into you?” “Yes”, Mo groaned. “Laiglas, please!” He couldn’t wait any longer. He gasped when Laiglas entered him with one deep thrust. He took him hard and fast, his belly slapped against Mo’s smarting buttocks. It didn’t take long until they both came.

 

Mo wiped a sweaty strand of hair from his eyes and looked at Laiglas, who watched him with half-closed eyes. “Was it as you wanted it to be?”, he asked softly. Mo smiled and moved closer, laid his hand on his back. “Yes.” His backside throbbed, from time to time, when his muscles twitched, a sharper pain shot through the sore spots. He hadn’t felt this for so long. He was happy to lie next to his beloved and know that that had been him – and that he would still lie here on the morrow. “What do you think?”

Laiglas made a humming sound that Mo more felt then heard, his fingertips ghosted over Mo’s sore skin. “It gives me a good feeling to mark you. You are mine.” Mo laughed softly. He often had lovebites when he had been with Laiglas. He long suspected this to be Laiglas’ way of marking him as his. “And to see how much you like it... I love you, I want to satisfy you.” Mo still heard a little incomprehension.

“I will not ask this of you if it is unpleasant to you”, he said gently. “I told you: I can live without it, I don’t want to live without you.” Laiglas shook his head. “No, I liked it, I think I could like it again. I just can’t understand why _you_ like it. I mean: It hurts!” Mo kissed him, his fingers circled Laiglas’ nipple before he pinched it. Laiglas gasped into his mouth. “Does this hurt?”, Mo asked with a mischievous smile. “Yes, but...  not in a bad way. It’s different.” Mo shook his head. “Not so much.”

“Maybe it’s just... a beating is a punishment for me, that it can be arousing... I don’t like to talk about Angband”, Laiglas said slowly. “Because it belongs to the past and I don’t want to be measured by the fact that I was a slave.” “I don’t do that”, Mo said. “I never would.” “I know.” Laiglas kissed him. “But you are... Asea Mahan. It feels strange to tell you about it. You know how it was and I don’t want to whine.” “I’ve never heard you whine.” Mo hesitated for a moment. “I won’t push you, but you can tell me anything. Yes, I know how it was, I won’t judge you.”

Laiglas stretched, his feet intertwined with Mo’s. “I just feel as if I don’t have the right to act as if I knew how bad it was. I was very young when Angband fell. I didn’t experience most of the uglier sides of being a slave. I was born in Angband, when I was five I was made to work. Nothing bad, I gave out work material to the smiths.” Mo listened silently, Laiglas hand was clamped around his upper arm, he spoke hesitantly.

“The overseer, Kaikos, was a just man. He treated us children like children. Workers, yes, but according to our physical strength. And he was very restrained when it came to punishment. He never beat us to push us, he knew that he couldn’t impose on us the same standards as on the adults. When he punished us, it was because we became disrespectful. And he used his hand while we were little, later a belt. Only when I was of age by elvish standards, did he use the whip, and most times I deserved it.” Laiglas cracked a smile. “I had a loose tongue.”

“Oh, really?”, Mo laughed. “I’d say, you still have it.” “Well, yes.” Laiglas chuckled and snuggled into him. “But what I wanted to say with this is, that my childhood wasn’t as hard as it could have been, thanks to you and your men. And I had the incredible luck for Melkor to notice me when he did. I was never molested because of his ring.” He turned it on his finger. “It’s nonsense to think that you don’t have a right for sympathy. Lucky to belong to Melkor!” Mo shook his head. “You said that before and I almost can’t believe it. Did he never hurt you? Not once?”

Laiglas shook his head. “Never. Melkor has always treated me well. I know that he could be different, but never with me. Melkor let me sleep in his bed and never woke me, if he had to leave early in the morning. One of this mornings, Mablung came to me and asked, if I was alright. He looked so concerned. I didn’t understand. Only when I saw the welts on his back another day, did I realise that Melkor wasn’t always so friendly.” Laiglas looked bemused. “I did never understand why he was with _me_.”

“He wanted to prove to himself that it isn’t Mablung, that he can be gently with any elf and enjoy it. He loved Mablung, but he was in denial about it – until the end.” Mo looked away embarrassed, when tears came to his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s only that I watched them love each other and not being able to say it. Melkor was such a complicated person. He couldn’t admit that he loved a slave, a Noldo, not even to himself. You were an attempt to prove to himself that Mablung wasn’t something special.”

Laiglas kissed the tears from his cheeks. “I find it hard to believe that. Melkor was always so rough with Mablung when he was there, and he wasn’t most of the times when I was with Melkor.” “I know. He wanted to show that Mablung was only his slave, nothing more, but... I saw it early. I was supposed to pierce Mablung’s nipples. Mablung was bound and blindfolded and suddenly he panicked, before I had even started. I didn’t know why, but he cried with fear. I was on the verge of telling Melkor to stop it, when Melkor did it himself. I have never seen him treating someone so gentle, before or after.”

Mo rubbed over his eyes. “That was when I realised that Mablung is someone special to him. And Mablung would have done everything for Melkor.” “I know. I could hear it from his words. Did you know him well, Mablung?” Mo nodded hesitantly. How would Laiglas react when he told him... but he couldn’t lie to him. “I trained him. He was freshly come to Angband when I met him, still a child.” Mo sighed. “I will never forgive myself what I forced him to do, but yes, I knew him well.”

Laiglas’ gaze was unreadable but then he smiled lopsided. “That’s why you had such qualms because of my age, yes?” “Maybe... yes, it wasn’t only him.” Laiglas embraced him. “I don’t know how you were before, Mo, if this old Mormirion was really so bad as you make it sound, but I know that you aren’t like this anymore. I trust you, Mo.” “And that means everything to me, Laiglas.” “Promise me something, Mo?” Laiglas became suddenly serious. “Everything, melindo.”

“Then promise me that this thing with the beating is not a weird way of trying to atone for you crimes.” Mo stared at him surprised and was still more surprised when he listened inside himself and realised that it truly had nothing to do with that. “It isn’t that, Laiglas, I promise you. It’s just what I like. I trust you too, Laiglas.” “Then it’s alright. So”, Laiglas propped himself up on his elbow, “what is this mysterious cave like?” Mo laughed. “So curious... It’s a surprise, wait until tomorrow.”

He hissed when Laiglas smacked his backside. “Are you sure you are up to it tomorrow.” Mo lifted his eyebrows. “My sweet boy, you have no idea. I have lived through much worse and did my duty the next day. Besides, I’m a Maia, if I wanted, I could heal it this instant.” “Why don’t you do it then?” Mo stole a kiss. “Because I like it when you are so possessive.” Laiglas giggled and deepened the kiss.

 

They got up early the next day and started the climb before dawn. Mo wanted to be at the cave at sunrise. Laiglas was curious what was to be seen there, he hadn’t gotten anything out of Mo. He had come on skis, the mine was in the mountains and in Aman the winter was never so hard that you couldn’t endure being outside. Cold, yes, but not freezing. They spoke softly as they climbed slowly higher, their breath forming clouds in front of their faces.

They talked about Mo’s work and the gossip, Laiglas had picked up in Tirion. Mo didn’t mention their conversation from last night and Laiglas was glad about it. He had been surprised how easy it had been to tell his beloved about his live in Angband, but the topic didn’t suit him. His father liked to pretend that it had never happened and Laiglas was inclined to do so likewise, if the people would let them.

A few days ago he had had a brush with a few Noldor of his age who had been born in Angband, because they had called another Angband-Elf names. Laiglas had been horrified how cruel elves could be. The Blessed Realm wasn’t as peaceful as he had been told. He pushed his dark thoughts away. He was with Mo, he would enjoy their time together and not waste it moping. “It’s not far now”, Mo said and pointed to a turn in the path. Something like a trail led up here, they weren’t the only ones who had come this way in the last few days.

“The time is perfect.” It just started to dawn. Another quarter of an hour later they had reached the entrance to the cave and unstrapped their skis. “Come.” Mo took him by the hand, Laiglas smiled because his lover was so excited. He had so much fun with his surprise. It was cold in the cave, colder than outside. It was darker, too, Laiglas could barely see, but Mo seemed to find the way in the dark. They didn’t walk far but it seemed longer to Laiglas in the dark, the floor was icy.

“How far do you want to go”, he asked a little sullen. He couldn’t see what was so interesting about this cave. “Not far. Look ahead.” Laiglas squinted and noticed a soft blue light over Mo’s shoulder. The only walked a few steps more and were suddenly surrounded by ice that grew in fantastic forms around them. “That’s beautiful”, Laiglas said, his voice echoed in the room. Mo embraced him. “Wait until sunrise.”

Mo had brought a bag and took out a metal can with hot tea and two cups. Laiglas drank with small sips while the light changed. Pale, silvery blue turned to fiery rose, orange – golden Light. “Wow!” Laiglas leaned against Mo and looked at him with shining eyes. “It’s fantastic, Mo.” “It is, isn’t it? A little cold, but...” “It’s so romantic.” Laiglas threw his arms around Mo’s neck and kissed him. Mo was so wonderful. He was so happy. How could he have ever doubted him.

 

~*~*~

 

“The Noldor works now as servant in the palace”, Oropher noted casually. “I kind of like that. That one of them has to bow to us, I mean.” “I know, I already thought about asking him to be my valet.” Thranduil moved a gaming piece. Oropher and him sat over their weekly game of Ndakir. “What keeps you from it?” “Nothing.” Thranduil shrugged. “Maybe I’ll still do it.” He wouldn’t tell his father that he hesitated because he feared that the Noldor would misunderstand his intentions.

After their encounter in the dungeon had went so terribly wrong, he had kept away from Mablung although it wasn’t like him to let someone he had cast an eye on get away. He was relatively sure that his other lovers knew that they could tell him no, but he wasn’t sure if Mablung would understand that. He was the prince, but he wouldn’t force someone into his bed. Not even a Noldo, as much as the hatred for them burned in his heart. He would treat Mablung justly.

 

Mablung bowed to the prince. “You sent for me, ernilen.” “I want you to become my valet. I already arranged everything, you only need to give your consent.” As if it were an afterthought, Thranduil added: “You can refuse, of course.” “It is an honour to serve you, ernilen.” Mablung watched the prince closely. When they had met the last time, he had been a prisoner.

Had his feelings for the Noldor changed? Hardly. Would his new position entail other services? He would know it soon enough. “I’m pleased to hear that.” Thranduil smiled kindly at him. Mablung almost was ashamed of his thoughts. He had no cause to believe that, except for the rumours that had it that the prince didn’t hold back when he had set an eye on someone.

 

“Do you play Ndakir?” “Not very well, ernilen.” Mablung helped Thranduil out of his robe. “Doesn’t your father have time today?” “No, something intervened.” Or someone, more correctly. An emissary from Lindon had arrived today. Ereinion Gil-galad wished for friendly relations between their realms. Thranduil had entertained him the whole day. Oropher had finally noticed that he was on the verge of losing his patience and had sent him away. Now this damned Noldo sat with his father and played _their_ game.

Thranduil clenched his fists, he wanted to punch something. The Noldo's accent made him aggressive. “You speak Sindarin like a Nando”, he stated brusquely. Mablung looked startled. “I don’t want to insult you by it, ernilen”, he said uneasily. “I’m adapting to my surrounding. If you desire it, I’ll show my origin more clearly.” Thranduil laughed amused. “I didn’t mean it like that. No, I like it that you don’t sound like a Noldo. But do you want to tell me that you can decide how you speak?”

Mablung shrugged embarrassed. “Learning languages comes naturally to me. When I was a boy, I had telerin friends, I liked to speak like them and their Quenya wasn’t so different from Sindarin. My father always scolded me for not speaking ‘decently’ when I was with them for too long. I learned to keep different dialects under control.” “Continue with it.” Thranduil caressed his arm, his hand stopped for a moment on his elbow, before he went to get the game board.

“I had to listen to my language being disfigured for the entire day, that’s enough.” “As you wish, ernilen.” Mablung sat down at the table. “I fear you will be disappointed by my skills in this game.” Thranduil grinned at him. “Don’t you know that you should let your prince win anyway? I’m not in the mood for losing.” Mablung smiled at himself. As lordly and contemptuous Thranduil behaved, he could already see - after the few weeks he served him - that he wasn’t half as arrogant as he acted.

“Of course you could improve my mood even more...” Thranduil took hold of his chin and brushed his thumb over his lips. It wasn’t the first time that he tried to seduce Mablung and each time Mablung’s heart clenched. He couldn’t do it, never, and he hoped that Thranduil wouldn’t lose his patience. “I fear I have to bear your bad mood, ernilen.” Thranduil shrugged. “Very well.” Later Mablung lay in his bed and tried to ignore the tortured creaks of the prince’s bed and the excited moans of the elf, Thranduil had taken to his bed.

He turned over and pressed the pillow over his ears. He just wanted to sleep, was that asked too much? As prudish as the Sindar commonly were, Thranduil cared little for decorum. Mablung wondered if he was so noisy intentionally. Did he want to show him what he missed out on? He couldn’t help grinning. That would fit his prince, but he didn’t feel comfortable at the thought. Thranduil wanted him and he was used to getting what he wanted. What was he supposed to do if Thranduil decided to just take it?

Mablung wasn’t even sure if he would be able to fight back. Aside from his inferior physical strength, he had been trained to submit. He was already fighting his instinctive reactions when he waited on Thranduil. He had been on the verge of kneeling down more than once. Mablung breathed easier when the sounds stopped. Brooding wouldn’t get him anywhere, he would have to take the things as they came.


	47. Chapter Forty-Six

_367 S.A._

  
Ecthelion jumped on the quay and waved to the Teler who had taken him with him. He would stay the night on the island. “Ecthelion! Are you visiting Sharû?” Ecthelion turned to the fisherman who had called at him. He came here often, people knew him. “Yes. Did you have a good catch, Iszar?” The Orc nodded and pulled a fish from a bucket. “Can you bring this to Sharû? He knows what it is for.” “Of course.” Ecthelion accepted the arm-long cod. “There’s going to be a storm tonight, Selindor tells me.” Iszar looked at the sky. “Might be. Do you want me to bring you back tomorrow?”

Echtelion shook his head. “Sharû and I want to go hunting, but thanks.” Ecthelion gripped the slippery fish tighter and strolled through the village that spread around the harbour. Sharû lived at the other end of the little town, almost in the wood. His friend sat on the bench in front of his house and waved lazily. “What do you have there?”, he called. “Codfish. Iszar said, you would know why.” Sharû laughed and relieved him of the fish. “Thank you. Shall we fry it later?” Ecthelion sat beside him on the bench and lifted his face to the sky. “That sounds good, if you cook.”

Sharû bumped him with his elbow. “Still no ambitions?” “I have a cook.” Ecthelion winked at him. “I’ll allow myself this luxury.” “And you should. You are doing so much for others.” Sharû stood up. “Would you like something to drink? I have wine and fresh beer.” “Home-brewed?” “Of course.” Sharû grinned at him. “That thin brew of you elves is undrinkable.” “I’ll take a glass.” Ecthelion accepted the good-natured teasing calmly. “Did you bring your flute?”, Sharû asked when he came back with two glasses of beer. “Yes. Later.” Ecthelion took a deep draught. “Not outside.” He usually drew a crowd when he played and he wasn’t in the mood for a concert.

“I heard a story about an orc who found his family. Is that true?” “Yes.” Sharû’s face lit up. “It is like a miracle and it could have gone so terribly wrong. A few of the lads were hunting and came across Teleri who had the same in mind. They didn’t take kindly to the Valar’s decision to give us ‘their’ Island, as you know. We try to keep out of their way but this time they chose the same prey. The lads were faster and already in the process of cutting up the meat when the elves came. I think, if Gil hadn’t recognised his son, the incident would have bred bad blood. Now Gil lives with his old family in Alqualonde. Can you believe that, after so many thousand years?”

Sharû shook his head. “His wife really took him back. I’ll never understand the elves.” “Love is eternal.” Ecthelion shot a glance at Sharû. “And you? Do you have someone?” “What elf-woman would want someone such as me? And we are only men.” Ecthelion lifted his eyebrows. “I seem to remember that you weren’t averse to the male sex.” “That was different. You were slaves.” Sharû bit his lip. “I’m sorry, Thel.” Ecthelion shook his head. “It’s fine. So you perceive it as humiliating to be taken?” He had never spoken with Sharû about this. He shouldn’t be surprised that he thought so, but still...

“Yes. I know that it is different for elves. I see when I visit you, but... We were brought up differently. And you? Do you have someone?” Ecthelion was aware that his friend tried to steer their conversation into saver waters. If only he knew... “No. I’m not lacking admirers – of both genders, but... they want Ecthelion the hero. They don’t want to remember that I was a slave, too. I won’t let them take this part of my life away from me, although they all would love to pretend it never happened. So no, there’s no one. That is...” Ecthelion looked at Sharû. “There is someone I’m interested in, but I don’t know if he is interested, too.”

Sharû laughed. “I wouldn’t have taken you for shy, Thel.” Ecthelion shrugged awkwardly. He wasn’t sure if he should be glad that Sharû hadn’t understood his hint. “I wouldn’t have worried in the past. I was Ecthelion of the Fountain, the most beautiful elf in Gondolin and I knew it. I could have everyone, why should I restrain myself? I didn’t know this uncertainty, it didn’t occur to me that someone might refuse me.” Ecthelion shook his head. “I was a vain, proud noble, I would find myself insufferable today. Sharû, do you scorn me because I like being taken?”

Sharû stared at him in horror. “I didn’t mean it like that, Thel! I think very highly of you, you are my friend and I’m grateful for that. It can’t have been easy for you to overlook what terrible things we too have done, but you are here. No, I don’t scorn you and I... wouldn’t think like that of anyone who would want me to take him, but... I can’t explain it. When I think about being taken, I feel helpless, I don’t think I would like it.” Sharû’s careful formulation didn’t escape Ecthelion’s notice. Was he interpreting too much into his words?

Enough! His friend was right, he wasn’t shy, he had hesitated long enough. If he didn’t come out with it now, he’d never do it. Ecthelion took Sharû’s hand in his and kissed his rough knuckles on a whim. “And that’s why I hesitate”, he murmured. Sharû stiffened, his hand shook. “Really?”, he croaked. “You... and me?” Ecthelion smiled insecurely. “If you want me?” “But... Thel! I’m an orc.” “I’m aware of that.” Ecthelion smiled tenderly. “But... look at me! You are so beautiful, how could you ever...”

“I see you, Sharû.” Ecthelion caressed his cheek, traced his rugged features. “You told me that your father was an elf once. I can see it.” Sharû’s eyes filled with tears. “I... thank you. And still... How could I expect you to do something I can’t? That wouldn’t be decent.” “Sharû...” Ecthelion shook his head. “That’s nonsense. I want it, it gives me pleasure. I don’t expect something in return!” Slowly he leaned forward and kissed the orc. Sharû returned the kiss tentatively, still tense. “I can’t believe that you mean it”, he whispered when they parted. “Because I’m an elf?” Ecthelion looked deep into his amber eyes.

“Because you were a slave.” Sharû wanted to turn away but Ecthelion seized his chin and stopped him. “Yes, I was – and I fought for my freedom with you at my side. You don’t owe me anything.” Ecthelion untied the strap that held Sharû’s hair together. “You think yourself ugly, don’t you?” He shook his head. “You aren’t. You are an elf, Sharû, it’s just that your skin is darker and your eye-colour is special, but different isn’t ugly. Do you remember the day we spoke to the Valar and you embraced me because you were so happy that you could stay? I longed to never let you go. Please, do not deny us a chance because you believe you don’t deserve it.”

“I’m afraid, Thel.” Sharû gripped his hand tight. “I want to believe you. I desire you, but I fear that our friendship won’t survive it. You are so important to me, Thel, I don’t want to lose you.” Ecthelion cradled Sharû’s face between his hands. “You’ll always be able to reckon on me. Don’t be afraid, melda.” He kissed him again, Ecthelion’s fingers combed through his open hair and played with the rings in his ears. “Make love to me, Sharû”, he said and stroked him between the legs, the orc groaned. “Take me, I want to feel you inside me.”

Ecthelion stood up and pulled him with him, his hands slid under Sharû’s shirt as he manoeuvred them both into the house. He managed to open his trousers between kisses and went to his knees. Before Sharû could protest, he licked the tip of his growing arousal and took him in his mouth. Ecthelion closed his eyes, he had ached to do this for so long and had always told himself that it wasn’t possible, but he wouldn’t allow doubts anymore – not his and not Sharû’s.

“Thel!”, the orc moaned. “Thel, wait.” He stumbled back and stared at him, breathing hard. “Not... not like this. I don’t want you to kneel before me.” Ecthelion smiled relieved and stood up. “If that is all that concerns you.” He rubbed himself against him and purred into his ear. “Let’s check out if your bed is as sturdy as it looks.”  
 

 

  
After, Ecthelion sat on the bed and played his flute. Sharû lay beside him and watched him with half-closed eyes. He liked to play for him, precisely because Sharû hadn’t been brought up to like music. He had no idea of musical theory, unlike most of his other listeners. With Sharû, there weren’t discussion about the musical piece, it was liberating. “Why?”, Sharû asked softly. Ecthelion set his flute down. “Why what?” “Why me? Why... this?” Sharû made a motion with his hand that encompassed them both and what they had done just now. Ecthelion shifted his weight a little and looked him in the eyes.

“Because you deserve to be loved. Because I can sit here and play music for you. Because with you I can do something as mad as cliff diving.” Ecthelion laughed softly as he remembered. “Because you don’t want me because of my name or my money. Because you can look at my face without recoiling from my scars. Because you didn’t say anything when you saw me naked for the first time.” Sharû caressed his side wordlessly, the burns covered his back and left arm with uneven, dark splotches.

Ecthelion caught his hand and kissed his fingers. “Because I don’t have to feign anything when I’m with you.” He grinned at him. “Because I hope you’ll soon fry that fish form me, I’m hungry.” Sharû laughed and embraced him. “I love you, Thel”, he said and kissed him gently. “And now I’ll prepare the Lord of the Fountain’s meal.” He stood up and bowed to Ecthelion. “Any special wishes, herdir?” Ecthelion reclined laughing against the headboard of the bed. “No, go ahead. I have a very good view from here.”

Sharû lifted his eyebrows but stoked up the fire without another comment. Soon it smelled deliciously of fried fish, Ecthelion’s stomach growled demandingly, he had last eaten this morning and the... exertion, he grinned, took its toll. Ecthelion slid from the bed and placed a kiss on Sharû’s shoulder. “Will you wait till after dinner?” Sharû laughed and wiggled when Ecthelion bit him gently. “I’m so hungry, I could bite a chunk out of you.” “The fish will taste better.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Ecthelion leaned against him. “I just want to be close to you.” He felt the urge to grin the whole time, he was so happy. “If you’d let go of me for a moment, we could eat.” Ecthelion felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Yes, he acted like a lovestruck adolescent, but he couldn’t stop it. Had he ever been that much in love? He couldn’t remember. “What would your high-born friends say if they could see you right now?” “Are you worried?” Ecthelion shrugged. “They can’t do anything to us.”

“Not you maybe.” Sharû bit his lower lip. “We only live here because the Valar allow it. We have problems with the Teleri because they insist on their hunting rights. I don’t want to alienate the Noldor – even more, I should say.” “Does it look like Garam has any problems?” “That’s different.” Sharû shrugged. “Who’d want to mess with Silwen?” “And you think that anyone would want to mess with me?” Ecthelion gave him a dangerous smile.

“You forget who I am. No one wants to have Ecthelion of the Fountain against him. Besides, there’s a lot changing right now. All the Maiar who served Melkor are coming free and you have to have noticed that you attract less attention than before when you visit me. Remember how they stared at you in the beginning. They got used to see orcs in Aman and given time even the last of them will learn to trust you, the Angband-Elves do anyway and we are enough to make a difference. Of course there will be gossip, but they learned to accept that we are friends, they’ll accept that we are lovers, too.”

Sharû looked into his gentle eyes and caressed his cheek. “If my mother could see us, she would laugh, I think. She would have liked you, Thel.” “Do you know that my mother long thinks us to be secretly lovers?” Sharû stared at him. “What?” Ecthelion shrugged. “I don’t know how she got the idea but she’s making ambiguous commentaries. Maybe I showed my feelings for you too openly. She takes it with humour.” Sharû rubbed his face. “What did I get myself into? A bunch of mad elves.”

His eyes glittered. “And you are the maddest of all. We should go to bed if we want to get up early for hunting.” Ecthelion winked at him. “I have no objections to go to bed.” Sharû groaned. “I meant for sleeping.” “You can sleep when I’m gone.” Ecthelion took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “And if we find ourselves a comfortable fern glade instead of hunting tomorrow, no one will find out.” Sharû shook his head. “Only an elf could have the idea to fuck in the woods. As I said, mad, all of you.” Ecthelion silenced him with a kiss.

 

  
_390 S.A._

  
It was an exciting game. Mablung had got himself into a tricky situation but he was sure that he still had a chance. By now he was a real opponent for Thranduil. He moved a piece and grinned when Thranduil took his other hand, that lay beside the game board, and stroked it. It had become almost like a game, too. Thranduil knew that he would say no and he always took it with humour, but he tried again anyway. Mablung swallowed, his mouth was suddenly dry when he looked into his eyes. Thranduil undressed him with his gaze. It became ever harder to not fall for his charms. Thranduil was a highly gifted seducer.

He suddenly noticed his own, fast heartbeat, heat gathered between his legs. Thranduil was a handsome elf, would it really be so bad... “Please.” Mablung pulled his hand back and cradled it at his chest. “I can’t, ernilen. There’s someone I love and I can’t betray him.” He couldn’t do it. It was more than a game. “I didn’t know.” Thranduil looked genuinely upset. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I thought, because you live alone... but of course I honour a marriage vow.”

Mablung shook his head. “He isn’t here. I lost him in Angband. He won’t ever leave Mandos.” His voice broke. Mablung sobbed, it hurt so much to say it. “I’m sorry, Mablung. I didn’t want to remind you.” Thranduil stepped behind him and caressed his shoulders. Mablung tensed, but after a moment he leaned into the touch. “But don’t you think he would want you to look forward. He decided to stay in Mandos, he surely wouldn’t want you to mourn forever. He set you free.” Thranduil spoke quietly, his voice was deep and calming. ‘You don’t know how true that is’, Mablung thought and leaned against him, he felt secure.

He trusted Thranduil, somehow they had become friends although the prince hated the Noldor. Thranduils hand slowly wandered down over his chest and between his thighs. Mablung inhaled sharply. He was torn, he wanted it, he hadn’t had someone in such a long time, but he loved Melkor. But Melkor had written to him that he wished him to be happy, he should leave him behind. He would never come back, regardless of how much Mablung wished it. He would never forget Melkor, but Thranduil didn’t want his love, Thranduil only wanted sex.

He blinked surprised when Thranduil suddenly let go of him and crouched down beside him, so he looked up at Mablung. Concern stood in his green eyes. “You can say ‘no’, you know that, don’t you? I don’t force anyone into my bed. You are my servant, but you aren’t my property and you are my friend. You have a choice. And if you tell me ‘no’ today, I will respect it and never press you again. I see now that this is more serious, that you don’t just play coy.” Mablung smiled tenderly at his prince. He was worried because he had been a slave.

“I know, ernilen, but thank you for your words.” That he had said them made it easier for Mablung to say ‘yes’. Mablung bent down and kissed Thranduil shyly. Thranduil returned the kiss and pulled him up, his hands slid down Mablung’s back. Mablung lifted his arms so the prince could pull his shirt over his head. Thranduil slowly pushed up the hem, his fingertips tickled his ribs. Mablung’s heart raced, he was nervous. Thranduil cradled his face and looked seriously at him. “Are you sure?” He nodded trembling. “Are you frightened?”, Thranduil asked softly. “No.” Mablung smiled. “I’m only nervous. I haven’t done this in a while.” It touched him that Thranduil was so careful.

“One thing:” Thranduil lowered his head and kissed his racing pulse. “I’m not ‘ernilen’ in bed, you can call me by my name. I don’t want to feel as if you do this because I am the prince. In bed we are equals.” Mablung had difficulties concentrating on the words, he was too distracted by the lips and hands on his skin. It had been so long that anyone had touched him like this. Mablung moaned when Thranduil brushed the rings in his nipples with his thumbs. “I’ve never seen something like this. Is that nice?” Thranduil smiled.

Mablung nodded and closed his eyes when Thranduil leaned over and closed his lips around one of the rings. He felt so hot, he wanted more. He stepped slowly back when Thranduil urged him to, until he felt the bed in his back. Thranduil made a startled sound when he let himself fall back and pulled him with him. “You seem to be very eager.” He chuckled next to his ear. “I want you, Thranduil.” Mablung slid his hands under Thranduil’s waistband and kneaded his buttocks. Thranduil moaned deep in his throat and rubbed his arousal against him.

Mablung lifted his hips when Thranduil pulled his trousers down and kissed his neck, he saw Thranduil shiver. “Where do you keep the oil?” “Upper drawer.” Thranduil’s voice was thick with pleasure. Mablung rummaged around in the drawer until he found the flask and pushed it in Thranduil’s hand. He gulped and reached for Thranduil’s arm. “Wait.” “Don’t tell me that you changed your mind.” Thranduil laughed shakily, Mablung smiled. “No. It’s only... it has been very long. Do it... slow.”

“Of course.” Thranduil kissed him tenderly. “Turn on your belly.” He felt Thranduil hesitate for a moment when he saw the scars, but just when Mablung wanted to say something, he felt Thranduil’s lips on his nape and an oily fingertip rubbing his entrance. His tongue traced Mablung’s spine as his finger slowly entered him. Mablung relaxed consciously, it was strange after all this time – and still so familiar. Soon he moved with Thranduil’s slow thrusts.  
 

 

  
Thranduil lay over him, their breath flowing in the same rhythm. Their sweat dried on their skin. Mablung shivered, he became cold fast since the Helcaraxe. “Are you cold?”, Thranduil murmured and rolled off him. “Yes.” Thranduil pulled a blanket over both of them and Mablung snuggled into him. “Are you alright?” Mablung nodded and smiled knowingly. “I’m not made of glass, you know? But thank you for being so gentle.” “I didn’t want to hurt you.” Thranduil caressed his scared back. “He beat you.” Mablung nodded silently. “Morgoth has had to be truly heartless if he was able to be so cruel to someone like you. You are such a wonderful person.”

“Don’t say that.” Mablung stroked his arm. “He was very lonely, to hurt others was his way of coping with it. I forgave him long ago.” “Why?” Thranduil’s gaze held only lack of comprehension. “Because I knew him, he wasn’t completely evil and he didn’t inflict a lasting damage on me.” He shouldn’t have defended Melkor. Thranduil didn’t know who is lost beloved was, after all. He wouldn’t understand and he couldn’t tell him. “Please, don’t ask further.” Mablung snuggled into Thranduils embrace and closed his eyes. He was tired and he felt save, he wouldn’t dream of Sauron today, he was sure of it.  
 

 

  
His Master held him in his arms when he woke. Mablung kept his eyes closed because he wanted to stay like this. If he opened his eyes, his Master would send him to his place. Pain shot through his chest when he remembered that it wasn’t Melkor who lay beside him. He curled up into a ball and sobbed, his hand pressed to his chest. It hurt so much. The pain came back with all might. These few moments that he had thought, Melkor were here, had reopened the wound.

Thranduil moved beside him. He sat up and stroked his hair. “Forgive me, mellon, I shouldn’t have persuaded you.” “No, It isn’t your fault.” Mablung buried his tearstained face at Thranduil’s chest. He didn’t blame him, but he was right that he shouldn’t have done this. How could he have believed that someone could replace Melkor? Even for a short time. “Do you want me to leave?” Mablung shook his head. “Don’t go.” He needed him to stay or the loneliness would kill him. Thranduil embraced him, his hand stroked his hair. He hummed almost soundlessly, Mablung could feel the vibrations under his ear.

“Do you want to talk about him?”, Thranduil asked after they had sat like this for a while. Mablung’s tears had dried but he was still so sad. Mablung looked up startled. He couldn’t... could he? “Why?” “Sometimes it makes the pain more bearable if you talk about it.” Mablung saw the pain in Thranduil’s eyes and knew that he spoke of Doriath and his dead mother. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.” Thranduil kissed his forehead tenderly.

“As you wish. I won’t push you, but I’m here for you. I want you to know that. You are my friend, Mablung, I don’t want you to feel bad.” Mablung longed to speak about Melkor but Thranduil wouldn’t understand that he loved him. And how should he explain it? He had never seen the gentle Melkor, who he had come to love. The one who called him by his name and tolerated when he spoke without permission. The one who had set him free. Thranduil didn’t know this man, he wouldn’t understand that this gentleness had helped him to endure the times, Melkor had been less friendly.


	48. Chapter Forty-Seven

Irmo’s mind was filled with the face of an elf, he had never met him but he would know him anywhere. Melkor thought of him when he was awake and dreamed of him when he slept. Mablung. His brother called for him, again and again, but Mablung couldn’t hear him, Mablung had other dreams. Irmo would have gladly kept this horrible nightmares away from him, but contrary to what the elves believed, he had not that power. He could only see and feel and only help the ones who came to Lórien.

Mablung suffered, too, from the separation and he would never see Melkor again – unless he intervened. Irmo wouldn’t have done it for Melkor, he deserved what he got, but it wasn’t just that the elf should be punished too. They loved so completely, he knew that Mablung would only ever love Melkor like that.

Melkor’s chains rattled when he lifted his head. Irmo saw the wounds on his skin and the desperate look in his eyes and although Melkor had caused so much grief, his heart was moved. Maybe he wasn't doing it only for the elf. “You will dream, Melkor, and in this dream you will meet Mablung. Truly.” Melkor’s face lighted up. “Why?”, he croaked.

“Because he is hopeless. He misses you.” Melkor shook his head. “That can’t be true. He was my slave, he hates me.” Irmo smiled soothingly. “Are you so sure of that? You have to promise me that you won’t speak in this dream, let alone sing. Don’t make me regret my mercy.” “I promise. I’ll do everything you ask, if that means I can see him one last time.” Irmo saw the tears in his eyes and wondered if this love could have changed Melkor.

 

Mablung knew immediately where he was. His cave, the safe haven of his childhood. It still looked like it had on the day he had been here the last time. He brushed his fingers over the rough wall that was painted with dark blue colour and yellow stars. An old, worn out chair stood in a corner. This had been his place, where he had went when he wanted to be alone.

It became dark because someone stepped into the cavemouth. Mablung turned around and sucked in his breath when he recognised Melkor. “Herdir”, he whispered. “Melkor!” Tears clouded his sight. He threw himself into his arms sobbing. “I love you!” He had to say it, although it was only a dream, he should have told him long ago, he had to say it before Melkor disappeared again. “If only I had stayed. I shouldn’t have left you.” Melkor embraced him tightly.

 

Before Melkor’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the cave, Mablung had already flown into his arms. And now he said: “I love you!” Melkor pulled the elf into a crushing embrace, he didn’t want to let him go – ever. He was so happy! The pain that tormented his body followed him even to his dreams, but it was unimportant while he held Mablung in his arms.

He thanked Irmo silently for his mercy. A pity that he couldn’t tell Mablung that this wasn’t a normal dream. He longed to ask Mablung how for all the world he could have fallen in love with him, but he wouldn’t misuse Irmo’s goodwill.

 

Mablung looked at Melkor with eyes clouded by tears. His Master smiled gently and wiped the tears from his cheeks. His eyes shone and it didn’t hurt at all to look into them. Mablung reached out and touched his cheek. It felt so real. But... it couldn’t be, could it? He had had such a dream once before.

“Are you really here?” Melkor laughed and nodded. Mablung wondered why he didn’t say anything. “Why don’t you speak?” Melkor looked at the floor. “Can’t you speak?” He shook his head. “You aren’t allowed to?” Melkor nodded. Mablung embraced him. “Oh, Melkor. If this is the price... I hope it isn’t too high for you.”

 

Melkor shook his head and huffed. Too high! He would have done anything for a few moments with Mablung. How much Mablung must have suffered in the last years if he really loved him. How much time had gone by? He had lost all sense of it.

They stood there for a long time, holding each other. It was enough for Mablung to be close to him one more time and to tell him that he loved him was everything he had wished for. Suddenly Melkor jerked in his arms and groaned. Mablung looked up startled. “What’s wrong?”

Melkor looked over his shoulder and pushed him away. He pointed to himself. “You?” Mablung was confused but his face lit up when Melkor formed a heart with his fingers and pointed to him. “You love me?” Melkor nodded and kissed him gently. Mablung knew that the moment of parting had come. “I love you too, Melkor, for ever”, he whispered with tears in his eyes. Melkor smiled but his eyes were sad, then he turned around and left the cave.

 

Melkor woke with a scream. “Finally. I almost thought you wouldn’t wake again.” Namo’s voice was as sharp as the lash that bit into his back. Melkor screamed again, the pain was almost unbearable, but now he had a cause to endure it. A small, warm fire burned in his chest. Mablung loved him! Could it really be true? He didn’t allow himself to doubt. He had to believe it or he would lose himself in here.

Maybe Irmo would allow them to meet more often, even if it was only in dream. And maybe they would meet again in person.  They wouldn’t forbid Mablung to see his beloved, would they? It gave him a stab when he thought of Mablung seeing him like this. What would he think if he saw him so weak and injured?

Melkor had to think of the night when Mablung had embraced him because he cried. Something he had punished him for. He wished he hadn’t been so blind to his own feelings. But no, they couldn’t have been together in Angband, not as Mablung deserved it. And now they would never be together and only because he had wanted revenge for his hurt pride. He had done everything wrong, he deserved the agony that shook his body.

 

It was dark when Mablung woke. The moon shone through his window. Mablung touched his lips. He wished he could hold onto the kiss. It had felt so real. Like the time when Melkor had shown him how to speak Valarin. He didn’t think that Melkor had done it himself this time. “Thank you for this gift, Herdir Irmo.” To his astonishment he got an answer. ‘You deserve it, hína’, he whispered in his head, the moonbeam that shone through his window became a man.

Mablung sat up and looked nervously at Irmo, he didn’t know how to treat a Vala. Did he expect him to fall to his knees? Irmo came to him and put a speckled stone in his hand. It looked like a stone from a river bed, smoothed by the water, and had the size of a small chicken egg.

“This is a stone from Este’s lake. When your yearning for him gets too painful again, take the stone in your hand and think of him when you go to sleep. You will be able to visit him in a dream again. Don’t use it thoughtlessly, his power is limited. I give you five dreams.” Mablung blinked the tears of emotion out of his eyes. “Thank you, herdir. May I ask a question?” “Of course.” Irmo sat on the bed.

“Why isn’t he allowed to speak?” “Words hold power in a dream, he could free himself that way if he wanted. He gave me his word.” “You think he would try to run?” “I don’t know.” Irmo watched him closely. “But I believe that he will keep his word.” “I’m grateful for what I have, even without words.”

Irmo smiled. “I’m glad that I could give you a little relieve. You have enough bad dreams.” His cool hands touched Mablung’s cheek. “I wish I could take them away, but that is not in my power. Sleep now, tonight you will be free of nightmares.” Mablung’s lids became heavy, he curled up, the precious stone in his hand.

 

“I thought, we agreed that you won’t interfere in my affairs?” Namo assumed solid shape, because Irmo already was cloaked in a body. He didn’t understand why his brothers and sisters liked it so much, it bothered him more than it helped. Maybe it was because he so seldom wore a body, he didn’t need to, his charges hadn’t one. The living went to Irmo.

“I assume you talk about the dreams I gave to Mablung? That isn’t your affair, although it might have become one of yours if I hadn’t ‘interfered’” Irmo threw an angry glare at him. “You can’t order me about.” “Melkor is my affair!” Namo shook his head. “I don’t want to fight with you, but your intervention has given him hope. It would have been better if you hadn’t done it. It would have spared him a lot.” Irmo looked horrified when he showed him a little of the future.

“This future is now unalterable.” Irmo felt Namo’s pain. He often acted cold, unperturbed by what he had to do, but he couldn’t hide from him, they were brothers. “But why?”, Irmo whispered. “Namo?” Namo shook his head and Irmo didn’t ask further. Namo had his reasons, as always, although Irmo knew that it was much more personal with Melkor - Namo hated him for all the suffering he had caused. He was sorry that his intervention gave Namo sorrow, but he would do it again for Mablung. The elf had no hope of seeing his beloved again, he should have a few dreams at least.

‘Don’t be so sure about that’, Namo thought but didn’t say it. Sometimes he wished, he could talk about the things he saw, but that would change them. It was his fate to do it alone and he wouldn’t stray from his path. He wouldn’t rebel against the place that Eru had given him, as Melkor had.

 

_566 S.A._

“You are leaving?” Thranduil looked startled. Mablung only nodded. Thranduil was the first one he was telling. He hadn’t yet had the courage to talk to Linqil, he would be very disappointed. Thranduil and he were good friends, they had not again tried to be intimate. Maybe they were still friends because of it. He was not one of Thranduil’s conquests. “Why so suddenly?” Mablung shrugged. “It isn’t really sudden. I’ve thought a long time about it. I came to Arda to see the word. Now I can catch up on it.”

He had been close to going when Carnlóme came back, and again a few years later, but then Linqil had quarrelled with Camquen and had been inconsolable. Mablung didn’t know what had happened, but he hadn’t to know to be there for him. He hadn’t been able to leave him, so he had stayed. And somehow his wish to go had fallen asleep, until now.

His feet longed to move. He wanted to be alone again – well, Mórhuin would come with him, he wouldn’t be completely alone and it wasn’t his primary reason. He wasn’t running this time, he just followed his nature. He had always been a wanderer. The wild called to him and he wanted to follow. He wanted to travel this word that was him home, as he had wanted before, but this time not to numb the pain but to admire this world’s beauty.

“The road calls me”, he said with a wry smile, he didn’t expect Thranduil to understand. “When do you want to leave?” “I don’t know yet, I have to settle a few things first, but sometime in the next few weeks.” Thranduil sighed. “And I can’t sway you? I’ll miss you, Mablung.” “What? You’ll miss the annoying Noldo, ernilen?” Mablung winked and laughed.

Thranduil smiled back. “You are my friend, although this flaw remains of course.” He became serious. “It’s not a good time, something wakes, something dark. It’s not just the spiders anymore, I can feel it.” Mablung nodded, he took Thranduil’s warning seriously, but it wouldn’t hold him back.

“I will miss you too, but I want to go. I want to see the world.” Thranduil laid his hands on his shoulders and kissed him. “Then do it and don’t forget that you are always welcome here. I hope to see you again.” Mablung nodded smiling. “I’ll come back, Thranduil, someday.”

 

His steps carried him slowly but steadily to the sea. It hadn’t been a conscious decision, but it called to him, as to everyone of his people. He had travelled the land in the last years, sometimes he had lived in small villages, populated by Nandor, mostly over winter. He had decided to stay away from Lindon. Nandor were used to a nomadic live, it wasn’t something special for them if some elf asked to stay for a while. His noldorin kin on the other hand would only ask inconvenient questions.

A few days ago he had gotten a glimpse of the sea through a valley, he hadn’t been on the way west, but suddenly he had wanted to see it closer. Now he leaned against Mórhuin’s shoulder, his naked feet buried in the sand and watched the waves. It was autumn, the sea was troubled and had a grey colour. He closed his eyes, felt the spray on his face, heard the waves break on the shore.

Suddenly, he longed for a boat. He wanted to sail again. He remembered how his telerin friends had taught him how to sail a boat. They had gone fishing or had made long trips along the coast, just for fun – in another time, in another word. He almost felt as if someone else had experienced these things. He had been so different then – innocent. He smiled crookedly, he wasn’t _that_ anymore.

He realised that his eyes had already followed for a time something that floated on the waves. He squinted and an icy fist closed around his heart when he saw that it was a someone. ‘What are you doing?’ Mórhuin sounded alarmed, when Mablung started to undress. ‘There!’ Mablung pointed with his finger. ‘Someone’s drowning.’ He waded into the water and gasped when it bit his skin, it was icy. It didn’t matter, he needed to help!

He swam determinedly against the waves and soon reached the elf, his limbs started to feel numb. He needed to hurry, or they would both drown. He couldn’t hope for Mórhuin’s help, the Maia was on the run, he wouldn’t step into Ulmo’s domain. Mablung gripped the elf under the arms and tried to pull him back to the shore. A wave rolled over him, he surfaced coughing and gasping. The salt burned in his eyes and nose. For the first time he wondered if he really could make it back.

 

Mórhuin ran nervously up and down the shore. He mustn’t go into the water although it looked as if Mablung was drowning and he wanted to help him. They would take him captive immediately and that wouldn’t help Mablung either. This damned elf, had he always to get into trouble? He relaxed when it looked as if Mablung might still make it, barely. He ran to the spot where the next wave had to wash him up.

Mórhuin changed his body and grabbed for Mablung’s shoulders before the water could pull him back. He pulled him and the other elf up the shore. Mablung rolled coughing on the side and threw up violently. He shivered with exhaustion and cold, the scars on his back were burning red on his chilled skin. Without concern for his own condition, Mablung turned to the unconscious elf and started to reanimate him.

 

Mablung was miserably cold and at the same time sweat ran down his body as he tried to bring the elf back to life. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long, exhausted as he was. Just when he thought he had to give up, the elf moved and vomited sea water. He didn’t wake up but he breathed. Mablung fell into the sand, he was so exhausted that he didn’t even shiver anymore, his eyes became heavy. He would just close his eyes for a moment...

Mòrhuin slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t fall asleep!” He wrapped him in the cloak he had thrown aside earlier. “Get up! Walk up and down until I get a fire going.” Mablung stumbled to his feet. He knew that Mórhuin was right. If he fell asleep now, he would never wake up again. His gaze wandered to the unconscious elf. “He’ll make it”, growled Mórhuin. “Walk!” Mablung stumbled around slowly while Móruhin ran along the shore to gather driftwood, slowly the feeling returned to his legs.

“Thank you, Mórhuin.” He knew that the Maia had just saved his life. “Please do us both  favour and think before you jump into an icy ocean the next time! You know who you rescued, do you?” Mablung looked startled at him. He knew the elf? He was still unconscious, his black hair stuck to his cheeks. His skin was tanned as if he spent a lot of time outside. His clothes had been expensive once but now they were threadbare, the sleeve hems were embroidered with a pattern of seven-rayed stars. A shiver ran down Mablung’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Maglor”, he whispered. “You think it’s Maglor, don’t you?” Mórhuin nodded. “I’m pretty sure. Come, warm yourself at the fire.” He had managed to make the wet wood burn. Mablung held his cold hands as close to the flames as he could without burning himself and sighed when the warmth wafted over his skin. Mórhuin dragged Maglor over and sat down next to Mablung. “What do we do with him?” “Wait until he wakes, I suppose.” He could feel that Mórhuin was seething inside. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you have that much of a death wish that you need to get yourself in danger?”, Mórhuin snapped at him, he looked as if he wanted to slap him again. “You almost drowned! If I hadn’t been here, you would have frozen to death! Do you care so little for your life?” “You think, I did this because...” Mablung swallowed hard. “It isn’t like that, Mórhuin. I just wanted so rescue someone who needed my help. I didn’t think. I don’t long for death.”

Mablung was a little surprised that he could say this with such certainty. There had been a time... Yet again he realised that the pain had lessened. ‘I’m forgetting him!’, he thought frightened and tried frantically to remember Melkor’s face. He breathed easier when he realised that he could remember it quite well. He still knew how he had spoken, how he had smelled, how he had felt – he wasn’t forgetting.

“Mablung?”, Mórhuin’s voice brought him back. “Did I say something wrong?” Mablung opened his eyes. “It’s alright, Mórhuin. I’m sorry to have caused you concern.” Mórhuin sighed. “Just be more careful. I have only you, meldonya. And”, he hesitated for a moment, “and I promised my Master to protect you. I’m not a warrior, I couldn’t save him, but I want at least to satisfy his last wish. I’ll keep you save.”

Mablung stared at Mórhuin. “You never told me.” Mórhuin shrugged. “I didn’t want to remind you that he is gone. You grieved for so long, you’re still sad.” “I miss him so much.” Mablung’s eyes filled with tears and Mórhuin embraced him. “I know, meldonya, I know.”

 

Maglor’s throat burned, he felt the warmth of a fire on his skin. His lids were caked with salt, he rubbed his eyes and blinked cautiously. An elf slept on the other side of the fire, his back leaned against the flank of a black horse. The horse watched him with a too intelligent gaze and Maglor shivered. He had met enough Maiar in his life to know when he faced one, but the elf was only that, an elf. He remembered that he had walked into the water today.

It wasn't the first time that he had entertained the thought of swimming until his arms wouldn't take him further. But this time... He didn’t want to live anymore, even if the void waited for him on the other side. Everything was better than to be day after day alone with his regret, his grief, the pain in his soul. The elf woke with a start and looked around confused until his gaze settled on Maglor.

“You are awake.” The elf smiled and stoked the fire. “My name is Mablung. I dragged you from the water, you almost drowned. Are you hungry, I have...” “I’m not hungry”, Maglor answered also his stomach growled at the thought of food. He stumbled to his feet. “And I want to be left alone.” Before he could make two steps, the horse cut him off. ‘He almost drowned because of you. You should be a little more grateful, prince.’

“I didn’t ask for being rescued”, Maglor snapped at him. “I wanted...” He stopped when he realised how the Maia had called him. ‘Yes, we know who you are, Kanafinwe.’ “Stay for the night and share my fire, cundunya.” Mablung spoke Quenya now, the sound brought tears to Maglor’s eyes. “I’m lonely. Keep me company.” Maglor turned around. “You wouldn’t like my company. You know what I did.” Mablung shrugged and offered him a bag with dried fruit. Maglor accepted hesitantly.

“I have blood on my hands, too. I was there in Alqualonde", Mablung said, his eyes haunted. Maglor sat  down in the sand. “How do you live with it?”, he asked and didn’t care that it was a question you didn’t ask a stranger, but Mablung didn’t seem to take issue. “I breathe”, he answered. “I take one step after the other and somehow one day follows the next.” The words resonated with Maglor. “It was like this for a long time, I’ll never forgive myself that I killed that man, but others do. I’m the adopted son of a nandorin tribe leader and the Prince of Greenwood calls me friend.”

“And still you are here.” “I travel, as I always wanted, before... before Angband.” Uncertainty flickered in Mablung’s eyes, he waited for his reaction. Maglor remembered what people had said about escaped slaves. Spies of Morgoth, they had called them and claimed that they had been allowed to escape. He remembered his brother, maimed and broken, driven by his wrath. Russandol would have never bowed to Mrogoth, why should he deny any other elf the strength to do so likewise.

And besides, Angband had long fallen, Morgoth defeated – no thanks to them. “You survived Angband?” Mablung nodded. “As I survived after Alqualonde, on breath after another. Now I’m free, free to do what I left Aman for. Exploring Arda.” “Don’t you long for home?” Maglor turned his head to the sea. Mablung followed his gaze. “It’s... I’m here, am I? The sea calls me, but...” He shook his head.

“There, on the other side, is something I don’t want to see. Arda is my home now and the longing isn’t so strong that I couldn’t ignore it. I refuse to let it darken my life.” Maglor examined Mablung from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t wanted to live anymore after all he had done, but with every word he exchanged with this strange elf who didn't seem to care that much for who he was, his wish to find death in the waves vanished more.

He stood up and beat the sand from his trousers. “Come, there’s no reason why we should spend the night outside. I have a cot close by, I stay there in winter, it isn’t something special, but big enough for us two.” He darted a look at the Maia. “Mórhuin is a friend.” Mablung lifted his bag and came around the fire. “You don’t have to be concerned, he doesn’t serve one of the Valar. I gladly accept your offer.”


	49. Chapter Forty-Eight

They sat in front of the little cot that hugged the cliff, the sun shone down on them and gilded the autumn evening. Maglor interrupted his harp playing for a moment. “When the light is like this, it reminds me of Aman when the Trees still lived.” Mablung nodded slowly. “You are right.” It had been two weeks since he had moved in with Maglor. The older elf hadn’t explicitly asked him to stay, but he had hinted that he wouldn’t mind if Mablung wintered here, he was lonely, too, although he didn’t say it.

“Sometimes in my dreams, even when I dream of Arda, it is the Light of the Trees I see. You speak Valarin, don’t you?” Maglor plucked a few strings. “After a fashion, yes. Why?” “Can you play a song for me? I don’t know what it’s called, I heard it only once and that was a long time ago. I was told it’s about someone who begs his beloved to run away with him, to not leave him.” Maglor nodded slowly. “I think, I know which one you mean.” He started to play and Mablung knew immediately that it was the right song.

He had only heard it once but the tunes were engraved in his heart. Maglor’s voice had nothing in common with Melkor’s but when Mablung closed his eyes, he thought, he could feel him. He didn’t know, why he had asked for this song, but he didn’t want to run from the memories, even if they hurt. He played with the stone in his pocked, Irmo’s gift. He hadn’t used it yet, it had to be enough forever after all.

Maglor continued to play another melody without a break, incredible longing in ever tune. Mablung, who was used to read in melodies, knew that he thought of Aman. Maglor could never go back, like him and still different. Mablung had decided to stay, Maglor had been forced into this decision. He hadn’t had a choice. How could he have defied Feanor? Mablung’s heart hurt with longing. Melkor... He gripped the stone tighter. Tonight. He needed him tonight.

 

Melkor’s sleep was seldom deep, the pain kept him on the surface. When his clouded mind felt someone touching him, he shrank back distraught, but then he recognised Mablung. The dream embraced him and he felt the sun on his face. They sat together on the shore of a lake, the sun sparkled on the waves, around them was deep wood. Mablung leaned against him and kissed his cheek. “I miss you so much”, he whispered. “I’m so happy, that Irmo gives us these dreams.”

Melkor felt warm, hope bloomed in his heart. He clung to it like he was drowning – and he was, he was drowning in pain. He moaned when his body shook with pain. It was numbed here, but he knew how he would feel when he woke. “What’s wrong?” Melkor shook his head and pressed his cheek to Mablung’s hair. “Oh, you mustn’t speak. I forgot.” Mablung sighed and embraced him. “I need you, Melkor. It is so hard to live without you.”

Melkor shivered blissfully when Mablung’s hands moved over his body. He realised only now that he was naked – them both. Mablung looked a little scared when he kissed him, he sank back so Melkor came to lie on top of him. Melkor stared at Mablung, taken by surprise, he hadn’t seen this coming, even in a dream. But why not? They loved each other. He leaned down and laid his lips gently on Mablung’s. ‘You don’t have to do this’, it meant.

Mablung pulled him down and pushed his tongue in Melkor’s mouth. Melkor returned the kiss with pleasure. He moaned when Mablung wrapped his hand around him. “Take me.” It was a dream, they didn’t need oil.

Afterwards they lay beside each other, their limbs entangled. Mablung clung to Melkor, he felt himself wake. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you.” Melkor kissed the tears from the corners of his eyes, he could only look at him and hope that he understood. He didn’t want Mablung to leave either, but he knew that no dream could go on for ever.” “I’ll come back, I promise.” Mablung kissed him.

It was dark around him. It took him a moment to realise that his eyes were open and he was back in his cell. The pain hit him again with all its force. Melkor whimpered softly. ‘I’ll come back’, Mablung had said. Melkor managed a weak smile. As long as Mablung reached out to him again, he could hang on.

 

_1320 S.A._

Maglor walked along the shore, it was winter again and the cold wind bit his cheeks. Mablung had never left after this first winter, Maglor hadn’t asked him to stay but he was glad. They had wandered up and down the coast together, had gathered mussels and fished. In the summers they swam in the sea and let themselves be dried by the sun after. They had travelled south and so far north that they reached regions where the ice never thawed. Although Maglor would hate Morgoth forever, he hadn’t been able to do otherwise but admire the glaciers that glowed blue in the sun.

He didn’t want to do without Mablung’s company anymore but especially in winter, when they stayed in one place, the cot sometimes felt too small. He had left Mablung with his harp and an exercise. It had taken him almost a whole autumn to coax Mablung into singing with him. He had a lovely voice and he learned fast. Maglor enjoyed to teach him, it kept them busy on the long winter evenings, although he believed that the harp was not quite the right instrument for Mablung.

Maglor squinted, he saw something glow in the sand in front of him, in a light that he had thought forever lost. His stomach churned. He crouched and pushed the sand away with trembling fingers. In the hollow that filled slowly with water lay a stone the size of a quail’s egg, itshone in a gentle, silver-gold light. His hand shook when he touched it with a fingertip, it felt cool, not hot like the last time he had held it. He stared at the sea.

“What do you want with me?”, he cried out although he didn’t expect an answer. He gripped the Silmaril in his fist. When he had seen it, he had felt the wish to keep it, to please his father, to fulfil the Oath at least partly, but his common sense held the upper hand. He looked full of loathing at his fist that glowed red with the light of the Silmaril. So much blood had been spilled in the name of this stone. The blood that was on his hands, stuck to the Silmarill, too. He stood up and threw the cursed stone back into the sea.

“I don’t want it”, Maglor whispered, turned away and went back to their cot. All this was behind him. Why did they torture him so? He laid his hand on the face of the door and closed his eyes for a moment, he could hear Mablung play inside. “Start again”, he said when he stepped into the room. “Let me hear it.” He didn’t want to think about the Silmaril that was sinking back to the bottom of the sea.

 

Mablung started and Maglor woke from the sudden movement. They slept in one bed, snuggled up to warm each other. It was cold in the cot, although they let the fire burn the whole night. “What’s wrong?”, Maglor asked sleepily. Mablung put a hand over his mouth to silence him. He heard soft music coming from the sea. “Someone’s coming”, he whispered finally. He was relieved that Mórhuin was away, they wouldn’t find him.

“I don’t hear anything”, Maglor mumbled around his hand. Mablung didn’t want to tell him about his gift now and before he could answer him, someone knocked on the door. Mablung, who lay closer to the door, stood up. He hurried to wrapp himself in a cloak, his toes curled when his stockinged feet meet the icy floor. He opened a door and a familiar face looked at him. He needed a moment to place a name on the face. When he said “Reviahûn?”, recognition flickered in the Maia’s eyes. “Mablung!”

Mablung nodded, too upset to say a word, and stepped aside to let Reviahûn in. Maglor stood behind him with crossed arms. “What do you want?”, he asked unfriendly. Reviahûn smiled thin-lipped, not surprised about the greeting. “I bring you a message from my Lord Manwe. You are forgiven, return to your home, Kanafinwe Macalaure.” Maglor stared at him, his mouth open. “That’s not true, you are making fun of me”, he finally croaked out.

“On the contrary.” Reviahûn smiled gently. “Out in the bay waits a ship to bring you home.” Maglor threw a helpless look at Mablung. “Why are you looking at _me_?” Mablung nudged him in the direction of the door. “Go home.” “And you?” “I’ll manage.” Mablung could see that he wanted him to come with him – but he couldn’t. Maglor accepted his decision with a nod. “Can I talk to you, Mablung?” Reviahûn nodded to the door. Mablung put on his boots before he followed Reviahûn outside. The wind bit immediately in every spot of naked skin and found a way under his clothes. Mablung shivered and drew the cloak tighter.

 

Reviahûn watched Mablung closely. The boy from long ago had become an man, and how could it have been otherwise, it had been so long. “Why didn’t you tell me, herdir?” Mablung sounded reproachful, Reviahûn knew exactly what he meant. “I didn’t think it important at first, I just wanted you to survive and then the right moment somehow never came. I didn’t know how to tell you.” Reviahûn halted. “Why so formal? We are friends.”

“Are we? It has been a long time.” Mablung gulped, he had again the coppery smell of blood in his nose. “We could be again. Come back home, Mablung.” “Home.” Mablung’s heart burned with longing but Melkor’s face was clear in his mind. “I can’t, Reviahûn.” “Why?” “I’m... hurt. I wouldn’t find peace in Aman.” He looked at the ground, he couldn’t tell him the whole truth. He didn’t want to argue with Reviahûn. “I heard that you were Melkor’s slave. Is that, why?” Reviahûn looked so sympathetic that Mablung almost told him, but he only said: “Something like that.”

“Mablung...” Reviahûn broke off, he didn’t know what to say. “It’s fine, Reviahûn. Let’s go in, it’s cold.” Mablung turned back to the cot. He was happy for Maglor, he would heal in Aman, would finally be able to forgive himself, but he would miss him. Maglor had already packed his few belongings. “You really don’t want to come with me?” Mablung shook his head and forced himself to smile. “There’s still so much to see in these lands. I’m not ready to go.”

Maglor embraced him. “Goodbye, Mablung. When you are ready to come home, visit me.” “Farewell, Maglor.” Mablung sniffled when the tears came. A parting, another friend he wouldn’t meet again. When he was alone again, he wrapped himself in the blankets and sat close to the fire, the bed was cold. He hoped that Mórhuin would come  back soon. He would wait for spring and then... Maybe it was time to go up country again. Greenwood. He missed his family. Should he visit them for a while? Linqil would be happy.

 

~*~*~

 

It was summer when he finally crossed the border of the Greenwood. He came from the south, had passed the mountains through the valley of the Angren to bypass Ost-in-Edhil. He didn’t want to come to close to the Noldor, they would only ask questions. He stopped when he was called at. Two elves, armed with bows and shortswords stepped out of the wood. “Who are you and where do you want to go?” “My name is Mablung. I lived here before and I want to visit my nephew, Linqil. You must know him, he is one of your comrades.”

One of the elves smiled. “We know who you are, Mablung. You are allowed to walk freely in Greenwood, order of the prince.” “Thank you and quiet watch.” Mablung followed the path. On the evening of the next day he saw their little house through the trees. Linqil sat on the bench in front, his head on the shoulder of another elf. Was it Camquen? Mablung almost couldn’t believe to see them together, but he was happy for Linqil. He had been so sad after they broke up. Linqil had already heard him when he stepped out of the trees. He smiled at him and stood up.

Mablung noticed that he didn’t seem to know exactly how to treat him, so Mablung simply embraced him. “Hello, Linqil.” “Mablung!” Linqil returned the embrace. “I’m so happy to see you. How long will you stay?” “I don’t know yet. Is your mother here?” Linqil shook his head. “She went to Aman with Carnlóme, a few years ago.” “And you didn’t go with them?” Mablung was surprised, he hadn’t reckoned with this. Linqil shrugged. “My time isn’t here yet.”

He pulled him to the bench. “You remember Camquen?” Mablung shook hands with the Sinda and looked coolly at him. ‘I hope you won’t break his heart again’, his look said. “I remember him, yes.” He didn’t say anything else. Linqil was grown up, he knew what he did. And love was unexplainable anyway.

 

“Where have you been?”, Linqil asked when they sat at the dinner table. “I travelled around, explored the western part of Middle-Earth.” “A few hundred years?”, Linqil asked with lifted eyebrows. “Yes. I wasn’t in a hurry. When I liked a place, I stayed there for a while. And a lived with Maglor at the sea for a while.” “The Maglor?”, Camquen asked surprised. “Kanafinwe Macalaure, yes.” Mablung grinned because of the identical looks on the faces of the two elves. “It was a coincidence that I met him. He almost drowned, but I pulled him from the water.”

“Then you are the only one who saw him lately.” “The last who saw him on Arda. He was pardoned. He went home.” “And you didn’t?" “No. I couldn't”, Mablung answered with a sad smile. “Because of...” Laiglas swallowed the question when it came into his mind that Mablung might not like it if Camquen knew who Mablung loved. “Yes, that as well.” Mablung nodded slowly. “But also because there is so much to see here.

Did you know that when you walk south, farther south even than the mouth of the Anduin, there is a place near the sea where every day hot water shoots from the earth? It is incredible. The water shoots more then twenty feet into the air and when the sun shines there’s a rainbow. Or that the water withdraws so far from the shore in some places at ebb that you can walk out for miles. The sea floor is muddy and full of live. Crabs and mussels and worms.”

“You examined little creepy-crawlies?” Linqil laughed. “Says the man who fights big creepy-crawlies?" Mablung took a sip of the excellent wine. “How does it look?” “There are more every year, but they are smaller now.” Linqil shrugged. “We know by now how to hunt them. It isn’t nice work but we can kill them.” He shook his head. “Does the prince know that you are back?” “I didn’t visit him yet, but I’m sure he already knows.” Linqil yawned. “I’m on duty tomorrow. You timed that badly, uncle.” Mablung laughed and kissed his forehead. “Good Night, Linqil. I’m here when you come back home.”

 

Camquen and Mablung ate breakfast together the next morning, Linqil had left early. “It must be strange for you that your nephew lives with a man who is even older than you.” Mablung mustered Camquen, he seemed to be genuinely worried. “How much do you know about me?”, Mablung asked before he answered. “You came from over the sea, you are a Noldo. You were a slave, like his mother, you met her in the wood, when she was giving birth. Linqil’s grandfather adopted you.” “Has Linqil told you, too, whose slave I was?”

Camquen shook his head. “He was very discreet. He thinks it is not his story to tell.” “That’s how I know him.” Mablung smiled, he knew that he could rely on Linqil. Even as child he had been able to keep a secret. “I served Melkor.” He lifted his hand when Camquen opened his mouth. “I don’t want your pity, that’s not why I tell you. I didn’t only serve him, I fell in love with him, I think you should know that since you belong to the family now. It means, I love a man who is unimaginably older than me. I don’t mind that you are my nephew’s lover. I don’t know what happened when you broke up and it isn’t important either as long as you don’t hurt Linqil.”

“I won’t hurt him. I was an idiot, back then, I know better now.” “Then I wish you both luck.” Mablung stood up. “I think, I’ll visit our prince today. Or he’ll be offended because I ignore him.”

 

Mablung bowed to his prince when he was let into his study. “Mablung!” Thranduil beamed at him. “I’m so happy to see you.” “I’m happy to see you, too, Thranduil.” His friend kissed him on both cheeks. “Come let’s go to my rooms and play a game of Ndakir. And meanwhile you can tell me, what you saw.” “That’s a fine idea, meldir.” He followed Thranduil to his rooms and set the pieces while Thranduil poured them wine. It was a familiar ritual, they had spent their evenings often like this. It felt like coming home.

“So, tell me. What’s new in the world?” Mablung moved a piece and leaned back. “I don’t know much about new. I let myself drift like a leave in the wind, sometimes I lived with Nandor for a little time. I walked up many mountains...” He had searched for the place where he had been so happy with Melkor, but he hadn’t found it. Whether because the world had changed its shape since then or because he didn’t know where it was exactly.

“Finally I was pulled to the sea, as all our people are pulled to it. I was high in the north and deep in the south. There is so much to see, Thranduil. I could sit on a dune for days and watch the waves.” He had decided to not tell Thranduil of Maglor. The prince might call him friend but he didn’t have illusions about his feelings for Feanor’s second-born – or the fact that he had been pardoned. He rather told him about what he had seen.

The landscapes, the animals, the way the sky turned purple when a thunderstorm was approaching. Thranduil listened patiently and won the game in passing, Mablung hadn’t really tried. “How long are you staying?”, Thranduil asked when Mablung stopped speaking to wet his dry throat. “A while.” Greenwood had become his home, he could feel it after his absence. He didn’t want to commit himself by promising to stay, but he wouldn’t set out tomorrow. He smiled at Thranduil. “That depends on the King. If he’ll suffer the Noldo to stay.”

“My father won’t send you away, he knows how fond I’m of you.” Thranduil laid his hand on Mablung’s forearm. “I missed you, Mablung.” “I missed you too, Thranduil”, Mablung admitted. Yes, he would stay, not for ever but a while. He was an Elf, he didn’t need to count the years. Never had that been so clear to him than with Maglor by the sea.

In the past, when he had been a boy in Aman, time couldn’t move fast enough, he wanted to be an adult. And later, in Angband, each day could have been his last, he had felt his mortality and how little his death would mean, very clearly. But now... there was no reason to hurry. He could stay, be with his nephew, with his friends, as long as he wanted – until the unrest took him again.

 

_147 T.A._

“Are you sure that you want it this way, tauren?” Thranduil smiled at him. “My wife and me are of one mind, you shall be the chosen father of our son.” Mablung was so happy for his friend. After his father had been killed in the war with Sauron, he had come back full of grief and bitterness. Mablung could do nothing to ease his pain, as much as he wished he could.

Fate had chosen this moment to give Thranduil the love of his life. Luiloth was everything for Thranduil. He had even stopped to dally with Mablung in the playful way, they both knew would lead to nothing. And now she had given birth to a beautiful son. Mablung traced the embroidery on the jerkin he wore for the ceremony. His palms were damp.

“But won’t you nobles feel snubbed?” Thranduil shook his head. “Do I look like that would matter to me? For Luiloth this ceremony, the role of a chosen father, more than a title. I know that you understand that, that you will be there for my son. And it is a little late to have second thoughts anyway, don’t you think?” Thranduil patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, meldir. You will handle it well.”

Mablung’s lips quivered when he smiled. It wasn’t the prospect of being chosen father, of accepting responsibility, that made him so nervous, he had been much the same to Linqil, after all. No, it was the ceremony. He heard the murmur of the crowd from the throne room. Thranduil’s whole people stood out there and waited for their King to introduce his first-born. Thranduil’s seneschal coughed politely to gain their attention. “Everything is ready, aranen.” Thranduil nodded and Mablung smiled when he saw the happy glow on his face.

He followed Thranduil to the throne room and waited next to the dais, on which the thrones stood, for his cue. Luiloth stepped on the dais from the other side, the little prince in her arms. “I invited you here today to present my son.” Thranduil took the infant from Luiloth and showed him to the crowd. The boy’s eyes were wide, he had an uncertain look on his face as if he didn’t know if he should cry. “Behold your prince, his name is Legolas.”

The crowd knelt like one person and Mablong went to his knees, too. “It is said, that a child doesn’t only need a father and a mother. A chosen parent shall be at his side and watch over him. Whom else than my closes friend Mablung could I entrust with this task?” Thranduil looked at him and Mablung came to his side. Gently he took Legolas in his arms. Mablung swallowed.

“I ask Eru and all the Valar to be my witnesses, may the look on us with benevolence. I pledge to protect this child and be at his side when he needs me. I pledge to be an example for him, a friend and a brother.” Mablung felt tears in his eyes. ‘Closest friend’, Thranduil had called him and this was still more. Luiloth was a Nando, for her the chosen father was family, was called brother, and Thranduil had to know it. He had just admitted him, a Noldo, into his family.

 

“Mablung?” He turned around surprised, it was very late, he had thought that he was the only one who was awake. “Can I do something for you, gwathel?”, he asked Luiloth, who sat down next to him with Legolas in her arms. It was a warm night, Mablung had woken from a nightmare and decided to walk a little in the garden, hoping that it would make him tired and chase the dark memories away.

“Legolas can’t sleep and it makes little sense to let him keep me _and_ Thranduil awake, so I walked around for a bit. Can I ask you something, gwador? But it is a little... indecent.” Mablung smiled. “You can ask me anything, Luiloth.” “Do you think...” She bit her lip. “You know Thranduil much longer than I. Do you think he’s sleeping with other people?” Mablung stared at her. “His love for you is boundless, Luiloth, he would never betray you.”

“Are you sure? I know his reputation. I knew, when I accepted his proposal. It... I think it wouldn’t upset me, but I don’t want him to lie to me. He travels a lot.” “He is only busy. Gwathel, listen. I’ve known Thranduil for many, many years and he never hid his affairs, to the contrary. You are the only one, I’m completely sure. He always flirted a little with me although we both knew that nothing would come of it, it was his way to show me his friendship.” Mablung smiled at her. “He stopped on the day you got engaged. He is true to you, Luiloth, don’t doubt him.”

She smiled back. “Thank you. I want to believe you.” Legolas whined softly. Mablung saw the shadows under her eyes. “He isn’t sleeping well?” Luiloth shook her head. “He wakes often and it takes time until he falls asleep again.” “You can leave him with me, if you want. Rest. I don’t think that I can sleep again tonight, the two of us can keep each other company. I’ll bring him to you if he gets hungry.” “Thank you, Mablung.” “That’s what I’m here for.” Mablung took the little boy in this arms. “Don’t worry. He’s safe with me.”

Mablung followed Luiloth with his gaze as she walked back to the palace and hummed softly to Legolas. When he started to feel cold after a while and went back to his room. He extinguished all candles except for one and sat down on the bed. The half sung tunes seemed to calm Legolas and eventually Mablung noticed that he had fallen asleep. Mablung found a more comfortable position with cautious movements and closed his eyes, too. The warm weight of the child had made him sleepy, the fear of the dreams had fallen asleep with Legolas, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon-time:
> 
> tauren: It's one of Thranduil's titles as King. He is the Wood and the Wood is him. Mablung uses it as a term of endearment. They are way beyond titles by now.
> 
> chosen father = godfather; I didn't want to use that term because they don't really have a god. I try to avoid words that stick out wrong to me in this setting and in this case I had to invent something else.


	50. Chapter Forty-Nine

_734 T.A._

Mablung helped Linqil to pack the last thinks and looked a last time around the rooms he had lived in for so many years. He lived in the palace now, but this house had remained his home. That it should belong to someone else now felt wrong. Linqil and Camquen would leave early tomorrow, to the sea - to Aman. “Are you sure that you don’t want to come with us, uncle?” Linqil laid his arms around his shoulders. “You would be very welcome.”

Mablung smiled at him. “I know but I can’t.” “Because of Melkor?” “Yes, that, too.” Mablung frowned. “But not only. Luiloth is pregnant again and she doesn’t feel well. Thranduil is worried, I can’t leave them now.” “I understand. Ere I forget it, I have something for you!” Linqil ran outside and rummaged around the crammed wagon. Finally he brought to light a wooden box. “Mother gave it to me before she left and told me that you asked her to keep it for you. I thought, you might want it back.”

Linqil offered it to him and Mablung pressed it to his chest. He hadn’t forgotten about it but he hadn’t needed it. “Do you know what is inside?”, he asked Linqil. “No, we always considered it private. I didn’t want to sniff around your things.” Mablung opened the clasps and lifted the lid. “What is it?”, Linqil asked. Mablung traced the curve of the collar. “The shackles that marked me as Melkor’s property”, he answered and swallowed down his tears. If only he could have seen that Melkor couldn’t have shown his love in a stronger way than giving him his freedom.

Mablung closed the lid. “Thank you”, he said with husky voice. He would use the stone again tonight. He almost feared what he would see. The last time, Melkor hadn’t had the strength to leave his prison, even in dream. Mablung had seen him as he was: chained, gaunt and tortured. It had broken his heart a second time to see him like this. “Mablung?” He startled. “Yes?” “I said: ‘Thank you for your trust.’” Linqil smiled sadly. It hurt him to see how much Mablung still grieved for his lost love.

Mablung embraced him. “You are the best son one could wish for and I’m proud that I was allowed to help you grow up.” Linqil returned the embrace. “You always were like a father to me and I wouldn’t have wanted it otherwise. Goodbye.” “Farewell, Linqil.” “Goodbye”, his nephew repeated. “I will see you again. Once you will come back to Aman. So don’t say Farewell.” Mablung smiled with tears in his eyes. “Goodbye, Linqil.” Linqil kissed his cheek. “I’ll take that as a promise. You never promised something that you didn’t keep.”

 

~*~*~

Big raindrops fell on Legolas’ hood, he wrapped the cloak tight around him, it had turned cold. “Father, won’t you come in to bid the guests goodbye?”, he asked softly. Thranduil shook his head silently, he knelt beside the fresh grave. Legolas and Tuilinn had tended the whole afternoon to the guests because their father refused to leave their mother’s grave. “Father, please.” Legolas wiped over his cheeks when fresh tears welled up. “They ask for you.” His father didn’t react, as if he hadn’t heard him.

Legolas turned away and walked back to the palace. He wanted to lock himself in his room and cry, but he was the crown prince. Tuilinn looked at him and Legolas wondered if his eyes were as red-rimmed as hers. He shook his head and took a deep breath. He had to talk to the guests in their father’s stead. He wished he could ask Mablung to do it for him, he didn’t know how they would have survived the last days without him, but Mablung was comforting Belegorn, his younger brother was still a child, he couldn’t take him away from there. But he longed for comfort, too.

 

Mablung closed the door softly behind him. Belegorn had finally cried himself to sleep. He found Legolas and Tuilinn in their mother’s drawing room. Tuilinn’s head lay in Legolas’ lap and slept. Legolas looked up when he came in. Mablung sat down next to him and embraced him, Legolas buried his head at Mablung’s neck and cried. Mablung caressed his hair and trembling shoulders. He said nothing. What was there to say? There was nothing that could ease this grief.

“It still smells of her”, Legolas whispered hoarsely. “I can’t believe that she is dead.” “I know, boy, I know.” Mablung held him tighter. After a while Legolas righted himself and wiped his hand over his eyes. “Mablung, you have to talk to father, he is still out there. He cares for nothing, I... I can’t do it alone.” “He’s still at the grave?” Mablung stared at Legolas. “Yes. Please, do something.” He looked at him as he had looked at him as a child, with the utter conviction that Mablung could do everything – Mablung wished it were so.

“I’ll try.” He kissed Legolas’ forehead and stood up. He had an idea already. The only question was how he should persuade Luiloth’s sister to allow him to take the little one with him. “Absolutely out of the question!”, she hissed at him. “It is too cold outside for the little one.” “I know, but if something can move Thranduil to not freeze himself to death on his wife’s grave, it is his child. Let me show him that there is someone who needs him.” Mablung wrung his hands. “Please. I’ll take care that she has it warm.”

“Well then, but only for a short time. You have five minutes before I come to take her back.” “Thank you.” Mablung took Thranduil’s little daughter on his arm and closed his cloak over her. She was so tiny and light, like the birds Tuilinn nursed back to health. Thranduil lay curled up on Luiloth’s grave and didn’t move. Mablung’s heart beat faster with the fear of being too late. “Tauren?” He laid his hand on his shoulder. “You have to get up, tauren.”

Thranduil looked at him with dull eyes. “For what? She is dead and she’s never coming back. She is a Nando, she won’t leave Mandos, you know how they think. I don’t want to live without her.” “Your children need you. Legolas tries to rule your realm somehow but he is too young and he just lost his mother, he can’t do it alone.” Mablung crouched beside him. “Look at me, Thranduil!”, he snapped at him and opened his cloak a little. “This poor thing lost his mother a few hours after being born. Do you want to take her father from her, too? Do you want to orphan your children?”

“You don’t understand, Mablung. It hurts so much.” “You forget with whom you speak.” Mablung glared at him. “I know exactly how you feel.” A shiver went through Thranduil. “You are right, I’m sorry.” Mablung sighed relieved when he sat up and reached out. His daughter twitched in her sleep when his cold fingers touched her cheek. Thranduil sobbed. “I don’t know how to live without her. How do you do it, Mablung, how do you live with the hole in your heart?”

Mablung gulped. He grieved for Luiloth, too, and Thranduil’s anguish reminded him of his own great loss. “I had Linqil and Nenwing, they held me in the here and now and – as unbelievable as it must seem to you – it gets easier. It never stops hurting, but you get used to the pain. Stand up, tauren, be strong for your children. Don’t force them to grieve for another parent.” Thranduil reached out and Mablung laid his daughter in his arms.

“She is beautiful”, he whispered and looked up to Mablung. “She looks like Luiloth.” Mablung nodded smiling. “Will you come in with me? Daeriel will bite my head off if I keep the little one too long out in the cold.” Thranduil nodded slowly. “I’ll come in, for now, but I can’t promise you that I won’t...” Mablung nodded and wrapped his cloak around him. “You don’t have to.” They returned the little one to Daeriel, Thranduil squeezed her hands. He knew that he wasn’t the only one who mourned for his wife.

Mablung remained at his side and Thranduil asked: “Don’t leave me alone tonight.” As long as Mablung was here, he could bear the pain, but if he left, it would descend on him again with full force. “I’m here, tauren.” Mablung helped him to undress and drew the blanket over him before he crawled into the bed, too. Hesitantly he put a hand on his arm. Thranduil pulled him close. “Do you want to talk, tauren?”, Mablung asked softly.

Thranduil shook his head. “I just want to lie here and know that I’m not alone. I won’t be able to sleep, but you don’t have to stay awake with me.” “I don’t think that I would sleep well.” His own grief gnawed at him and he knew, if he was so troubled at day, his nightmares became worse. He leaned his forehead against Thranduil’s shoulder and listened to his heartbeat, his breath that now and then became sobs.

 

Mablung stretched, his neck hurt. Eventually he must have fallen asleep, at least this time he hadn’t thought it was Melkor who lay beside him. Thranduil’s head lay on his chest, he seemed to be asleep. Mablung caressed his long, blond hair, he was heavy, but he didn’t want to wake him. He should sleep as long as he could and forget the pain meanwhile. Thranduil sighed softly. “You’ll stay, Mablung, won’t you?”, he murmured. “You won’t go away now” “I’ll stay, tauren. As long as you need me.” He knew that he couldn’t leave him now.

Thranduil’s fingers caressed his skin. “You cried out in your sleep.” He lifted his head, his blue eyes seemed to see into Mablung’s heart. “What do you dream of, Mablung?” He couldn’t remember for this time, the dream hadn’t woken him and he was glad for it. Mablung rubbed his face. “Sometimes I dream of Alqualonde, the darkness, the screams... the blood on my hands”, he shuddered, “but most times it’s Sauron.” Mablung took a shaky breath, he hated that he could remember this so much more clearly than many things he had experienced with Melkor. Why couldn’t he dream of Melkor? “I almost didn’t survive.”

“Why did you?”, Thranduil asked softly, he didn’t sound accusing, only curious, so Mablung didn’t get angry. He knew that many elves thought, the slaves should have rather died than let themselves be raped, but that wasn’t what Thranduil meant. “At first, I thought that slavery was a fitting punishment for the murder I had committed and later I was more afraid of Mandos than of Angband. When I dream of Alqualonde, I always hear his voice, too _‘...and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you.‘_ And... I loved. I couldn’t die.”

“But your beloved left you. Didn’t you want to follow him?” Thranduil sobbed, fresh tears ran down his cheeks, his own loss was still so fresh. Mablung stroked his back. “After we were separated, I often wanted to lie down and never stand up again. I would do everything to see him only one more time, but... death wouldn’t lead me to him. If I died, Mandos wouldn’t bring us together, he has done too much wrong.”

“It’s one of Feanor’s sons, isn’t it? You can tell me, Mablung, I won’t be angry.” Mablung laughed surprised. He supposed, one could interpret his hints like this. “No, not one of them. Much worse, tauren.” The name was on his tongue, but he was unable to bring himself to say it. He didn’t want to have to explain, didn’t want to see the dismay in his face. Thranduil looked at him frowning, while he wondered what _much worse_ meant. His eyes became wide and his gaze darted to the rings in Mablung’s skin.

“ _Him?_ You fell in love with Morgoth?” “Yes.” Mablung tensed. “So you weren’t his slave? Did you only say so, because...” “No!”, Mablung cut him short ere he could continue on this line of thought. “I was his slave. He beat me, he abused me. He lent me to Sauron! I still fell in love with him.” “Why?” He could hear Thranduil’s incomprehension. “Because he wasn’t just Morgoth. I... sometimes I could see, what he could have been.” He saw it now, when he dreamed with him.

Thranduil shook his head. “I can’t argue with you now. Oh, Mablung!” He kissed his cheek. “I always thought... How awful this must be for you. To grieve and not be able to tell anyone.” Mablung started to cry. “The worst is, that he loved me too and that I couldn’t see it. He let me go and surrendered. And he told me in a letter that he did it for me. If only I had seen it, if only I had stayed, maybe... maybe we could have found another way.”

Mablung sniffled and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. You are grieving for Luiloth, you shouldn't have to listen to me crying for Morgoth.” Thranduil shook his head. “You love him”, he said gently. “I saw you mourn, I know that it is real love. You don’t have less right for grief than me, we both life with half a heart.” “Thank you.” Mablung wouldn’t have thought that Thranduil would accept it just like this – without reproach, without doubt. He was such a wonderful friend.


	51. Chapter Fifty

_2010 T.A._

Mablung found Thranduil at his wife’s grave. It was their wedding day. He moved back silently, he didn’t want to disturb him, had only wanted to make sure that he was alright. “Stay, Mablung.” Thranduil turned around, a melancholy smile on his lips. “I was so happy on this day, I thought we would be together forever.” He shook his head. “How are you, tauren?” Mablung put his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t have to explain to you that the pain never goes away,  but... I can see her in my children, especially in Lothiel. I no longer wish to go to Mandos. There is so much to do here, and with these dwarves on my doorstep...” Thranduil frowned and shook his head. “But that shouldn’t concern you. You want to leave, don’t you?”

Mablung nodded slowly. “Angmar is overthrown, the streets are save again and I feel longing for the read. I’m sorry, tauren.” “No, don’t.” Thranduil embraced him. “I kept you here for much too long. If you hadn’t worried so much about me, you would have left with Linqil. Are you going to sail?” Mablung shook his head. “I can’t go back. It’s... to be so close to Melkor and still not being allowed to see him. I couldn’t bear it.”

“So you live in exile. Are you never homesick?” Mablung shook his head. “I live now so much longer in Arda than in Aman. I was still a child, it’s as if these memories belong to someone else. Greenwood is my home now, Thranduil, I’ll always return, no matter how long my travels take.” “And you will always be welcome, meldir. Go with the Valar’s blessing.” “Don’t do something rash, tauren. Leave the dwarves be.” “For now. If they drink away my wine, there will be war.” Thranduil winked at him. “Take care of yourself, Mablung, do you hear me? I don’t want to lose another friend.” Mablung stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I promise. Goodbye, Thranduil.”

 

Mablung and Mórhuin had followed the Celduin and then travelled south, into a wide grassland, that seemed to be sparsely populated. Now they saw a group of people raise tents in the distance. ‘Those are elves’, Mórhuin said. Mablung regarded his dwindling provisions. He had had bad luck hunting the last few days. “You might be able to survive on grass, but I don’t want to go hungry another day. If these are elves, they will welcome me at their fire.”

Who might be it? He had never heard of Nandor travelling so far east. There weren’t many wandering tribes anymore anyway. Most had settled down in Greenwood or had sailed to Aman. “Come, let’s go to them.” Mablung could hear their voices from far away, they bantered with each other while setting up the tents and although their accent had smoothed out in the course of centuries, he could hear it clearly after all his years at Thranduil’s court.

“Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo!”, he called at them. “My name is Mablung Thorgilion, I saw your camp and was surprised to meet Eldar in this part of the world.” “Welcome, Mablung.” One of the Noldor walked up to him. “I’m Gildor Inglorion from the House of Finrod Felagund. You find me surprised, too. Are you travelling alone?” “Yes, only me and Mórhuin.” Mablung patted the Maia’s neck. “We come from the Greenwood.”

“Greenwood!” Gildor looked him over. “We heard rumours that King Thranduil allows a Noldo to live at his court, but we couldn’t believe it. But come. Eat with us and tell us of Greenwood, if you like to.” “I’ll gladly take your offer.” Mablung took his bags from Mórhuin’s back and sent him to the other horses, real horsed, that grazed nearby. “How come that you wander? I only knew this way of life from the Nandor until now.”

Gildor shrugged. “When Ost-in-Edhil fell, there was no longer a place for us. Many who survived the war went to the West or settled with Elrond in Imladris, we spend the winter there now and then if we are close. We travel Arda, we want to see more of it than just the north-west before we sail back to Aman one day.” They sat by the fire and Gildor filled two cups with wine.

“What news from Greenwood, Mablung? Relations with Thranduil are complicated, Elrond tries hard for a regular exchange but since the catastrophe on the Dagorlad Thranduil keeps to himself. And he and his father never liked the Noldor anyway.” Mablung sighed. “I know and I told him a thousand times that to isolate isn’t a solution, but he’s stubborn.” “So you know him well?”

“Yes, he’s my friend. I... came to Greenwood with a group of Nandor, at the beginning of the Second Age. They had adopted me – it’s complicated – and I stayed. Thranduil’s people prosper, they trade with the humans at Esgaroth and in the dale of the Anduin, although no one of them is allowed to enter the wood. He watches the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain with suspicion. And yes, he doesn’t like the Noldor in general.” Mablung shrugged.

“I don’t blame him for secluding the realm. He’s from Doriath, he only continues what Thingol and later his father started. And didn’t the Noldor of Nargothrond do so likewise?” Gildor smiled wryly. “You are right. Where did you live, Mablung? You sound like someone from Gondolin.” Their conversation had started in Sindarin but as they relaxed they had continued in Quenya. It was their mother tongue, although it was seldom heard now, even under Noldor.

“No, I never lived in Gondolin, although I belonged to the household of Prince Turgon when we left Aman. I was taken captive shortly after we arrived in Arda. The orcs of Angband spoke Quenya in a very old-fashioned way.” Gildor tensed, but the shock vanished quickly from his face. He refilled Mablung’s cup. “You lived an interesting life... and your horse isn’t what it seems to be, is it?” “No, but he’d rather it looked like it for the moment.”

Gildor nodded. “We will treat him the way he wants. It’s time to eat now, we will count stars later and maybe you’ll contribute a story.” “Maybe”, Mablung answered slowly, but Gildor’s easy manners let him relax already. He wouldn’t speak of Angband, but there were other things. They might like to hear of Maglor.

 

 

 

_2956 T.A._

Mablung strolled over the market of the little town and breathed in the smells of spices and food. It was still morning, but the sun burned hot already, Mablung enjoyed the warmth. He had travelled with Gildor’s people for a while, but they didn’t dare to go too far south and yet the south was, what interested Mablung. He had to hide what he was here, the Haradrim worshipped Sauron and probably would have killed him if they found out that he was an elf, but he was intrigued by them.

It was wrong to speak of _the_ Haradrim. They lived scattered along rivers and in oases in the desert, each tribe had their own customs and traditions and there were thousands of languages and dialects. He had stayed in Umbar for a while and learned the language fast, it was similar to Westron, and he could make himself understood with it even up-country, but he liked to learn languages. The variety fascinated him and most languages came naturally to him, even if they didn’t resemble the elven languages at all.

Mablung leaned against a well and closed his eyes. The people here conversed with a multitude of clicks, he had no idea how to reproduce them. He smiled, it excited him, he would stay for a while. Hehad left his sparse belongings at a small inn, he had negotiated with the innkeeper that he would work for his stay. He wasn’t picky, he wouldn’t mind scrubbing floors. His Umbarin was good enough, and the town far enough away, that he was taken for a man from there.

He felt for his headband that hid his pointed ears as he walked around the market. He was lucky, that these people had never seen an elf. The crowd became denser and Mablung stretched to see what attracted them. For the first time since longer than he could think, he wasn’t smaller then the people around him. His shortness was even an advantage, his light skin caused enough attention. Although it had turned a deep brow in the months he had lived under the southern sun, it was still lighter than that of the locals.

A circle of cages, mounted on wheels, came in sight, Mablung could hear the roaring of a bear. A man praised the menagerie in a loud voice. Mablung tried to get out of the crowd, he found no pleasure in looking at chained animals in small cages. He had work to do tonight.

 

His steps made no sound on the soft sand when he sneaked up to the wagons. It was night, the moon was a narrow sickle, it was enough light for him, but no human would see him. There was a watch but he looked in the other direction and didn’t notice him when he climbed onto a cage. He wanted to open the lock from up there, he didn’t intend to let himself be eaten by a bear or lion. He barely reached the lock, lying on his belly and reaching down.

Mablung inserted a wire into the lock and moved it, his tongue stuck out in concentration. He didn’t do this for the first time, wherever he found a wandering circus, he tried to free as many animals as possible. The lock opened with a soft click, when he opened the door, a bell rang. He tensed, when the light of many lamps sprang up. “You! Come down there!”, someone called in Umbarin. Mablung pushed himself off and landed on his feet behind the wagon, he ran as fast as he could.

He wished, Mórhuin were here, the Maia would have taken him away so fast that no one could have followed them, but Mórhuin had stayed in Rohan. He was taken with the land of horses. Mablung cursed himself, he should have been more cautious. By now it must have gotten around that someone freed animals and they had set a trap for him. With a little luck, the freed animal would keep them busy for long enough, but he didn’t dare to hope for it. Already he heard shouts behind him.

He tried to dodge when he heard something flying at him but it was too late, something hit him in the back of his knees and tied his legs, he barely managed to break his fall with his hands. He rolled on his back, breathing heavy and unsheathed a knife to cut the leather strap that had wound around his legs, but they were already on him. One of the men kicked the knife from his hand.

“Do you think this fruit knife impresses me? Finally we have you. You did a lot of damage to a few of our rivals. Really, we should thank you. Tie him up.” Mablung’s hands were tied to his back, before they set him on his feet. Mablung gasped when the man, who had talked to him, punched him in the gut. “Did you really think you’ll get away with this?”, he asked conversationaly. Mablung gasped for breath. “Did you think...” The man stopped, his hand pushed up the headband, that had slipped when he fell.

“What do we have here?” He laughed. “Boys, I think we caught us a real elf. Give him a good thrashing and lock him in the empty cage. He’ll earn us a lot of money.” Mablung’s knees buckled when he was again punched in the gut. The men took turns holding him upright and beating him up. He was barely conscious when they finally dragged him to a cage that smelled pungently of big cat and locked the door behind him.

 

Mablung woke when his prison started to move. He stretched moaning, his whole body felt sore, one of his eyes wouldn’t open. He moved his arms and legs tentatively and felt his ribs with his hands. It was almost a miracle, but nothing seemed to be broken. Mablung sat with gritted teeth and looked around. Floor, roof and back of the cage were made of rough wood, the other sides were thick iron rods, that were set too close for him to be able to squeeze through.

There was straw on the floor that seemed to be tolerably clean. Mablung made a pile to make himself more comfortable and laid down again, every motion was agony, he needed to rest. As soon as he felt better, he would try to flee. He was sure that he could pick the lock. The sun burned mercilessly, soon his mouth was dry, his eyes burned. When they stopped at evening and he was finally given a pitcher of water and a few hard bread crusts, he drank greedily.

He leaned against the wooden side and watched the men with half closed eyes setting up the camp. Before he attempted to escape, he needed to know more about their routine, he had only one chance  and he couldn’t do it in the desert. He needed a town, a big one if possible, where he could vanish between the houses.

 

The humans stood around his cage and stared at him, like they stared at the animals. He was only another curiosity. A little girl pinched his leg and giggled when he jerked. His belly growled. Mablung licked his dry lips, they had given him something to drink this morning, but the thirst came back quickly in the heat. Maybe he would try tonight. His injuries were healed and the pin of his belt would be enough to pick the lock – it had to.

He got a queasy feeling when he saw Ashkan, the leader of the menagerie, point at him, a well-dressed man at his side. The human scrutinized him in a way that made Mablung shiver. No! No, he must be imagining it. He remembered, what Ashkan had said, when they caught him: “He’ll earn us a lot of money.” They would make even more money with him, if they sold his body. Mablung shrank back into the corner furthest away from the door and wrapped his arms around his legs.

For the first time he was afraid of the humans. Until now they had treated him... well, not worse than their animals. They had given him food and water and they hadn’t beaten him again. But if they now... No! No, he couldn’t let them do this. He would fight, he wouldn’t let this happen to him. This wasn’t Angband where he couldn’t run anywhere and he wasn’t a frightened child. He would act docile until he was out of this cage and then he would fight and run. He would make it! He wouldn’t be a slave again!

 

It was evening, the menagerie had closed, when the man from afternoon came back. Ashkan led him into his tent and came to Mablung’s cage soon after, one of the keepers at his side. Mablung tensed when the door opened and Ashkam came in, the cage was so small that he had to bow. “You won’t cause trouble tonight, elf, or you’ll regret it. This man paid a lot of money for you and if he isn’t pleased, I will show you what we do with rebellious slaves”, he said and tied his hands and feet in a way that would allow him to walk, but not run. “Do you understand?”

Mablung gritted his teeth. So much for his escape plan... He needed to get rid of the ties. Ashkan gripped his chin and forced him to look into his eyes. “Do you understand?”, he growled. “Yes”, Mablung answered, he stumbled to his legs when Ashkan pulled on the rope around his wrists. Mablung’s gaze shot back and forth when he was led across the camp, but there wasn’t anything useful lying around. His thoughts raced and he still didn’t know what to do when Ashkan left him with the man who had, it seemed, bought him for tonight.

“A real elf.” The human pulled him closer with the rope and pushed the hair behind his ear, Mablung shuddered when he licked his ear-tip and trailed kisses down his neck, but he allowed it. “I’m curious how you will feel when I fuck you.” He opened Mablung’s shirt and stroked his chest. “Your skins is so soft.” Mablung gulped and gave the man a seductive look. “Let me serve you, master”, he purred and rubbed his knuckles over the man’s crotch. He needed to get rid of the rope!

The human laughed. “Your owner thought you would put up a fight, but it looks like you are reasonable.” Mablung almost sighed when the man opened the knots of his ties, he acted immediately. He pushed the man away and tripped him up – and hurried to get away. He ran over the yard the wagons made and jumped over the breast-high wooden wall that closed the entrance for the night. Freedom... A loop of rope coiled around his chest and yanked him back. Mablung fell hard on his back.

“Did you really think, I would fall for this?”, the man laughed and strolled over, the other end of the rope in his hands. “You know, elf? I like it when my slaves have a little fire. That gets me in the right mood.” He pushed the loop up until it lay around Mablung’s neck, placed his foot on his chest and pulled it tight. Mablung tried to get his fingers between the rope and his neck and to shake the human off, but the man only laughed as he watched him running slowly out of breath.

Black specks danced before Mablung’s eyes when the loop was finally loosened, he gasped for air and coughed, his throat was on fire. “Come, slave.” Mablung hurried to get on his feet when the man pulled on the rope and stumbled after him back to the tent, he still didn’t see clearly. “Very amusing, your escape attempt, but I can’t allow this, of course.” The human twisted his arm to his back and up. “On your knees, slave.” Mablung moaned when he pulled on his arm and knelt before he broke it.

The human tied his hands with the rope that still was around his neck. Mablung tensed when the human roughly pulled his trousers down. “Naughty slaves have to be punished.” Mablung could hear in his voice that he delighted in his helplessness, that the idea to beat him aroused him. He didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction to hear him scream, but he was aware that it would only be more fun for him if he saw him fight.

He had the upper hand, Mablung would scream eventually, he would make it easier for himself if he just gave up. He relaxed as much as was possible with his bound hands that pulled on the loop around his neck and closed his eyes. He had done everything he could but he had lost, now he would pay the price. He moaned when the first smack kissed his skin.

 

Mablung lay curled up in his cage. It was early morning, the stars were slowly fading. Dew cooled his aching body, he licked it from the bars of his prison. Ashkan had been furious when he heard of his failed escape attempt, now he almost let him die of thirst. He could bear the pain, he could bear the hunger, but the thirst almost drove him mad. Mablung curled up again trembling, it was cold at night.

For the first time he understood why so many elves didn’t survive the emotional consequences of rape. He felt as if something unspeakably precious had been taken away from him. Mablung didn’t understand it. His body had belonged to so many people, what had changed?

He buried his teeth in his lower lip, the pain inside him couldn’t be described. Tears ran down his cheeks. He was no animal to be locked up in a cage, he wasn’t a thing to be lent to other men. He belonged to Melkor, only Melkor, he didn’t want anyone else to touch him! Mablung clutched the smooth, round stone that he had hid in the straw. He wanted to leave this place, if only for a short while.

He found himself in Melkor’s cell and sat beside his beloved on the floor. “Melkor, meleth, if only I could be with you.” Mablung embraced him and cried into his shoulder, but his beloved didn’t react. “He can’t hear you.” Mablung recoiled when he was suddenly spoken to. He was trembling when looked up to Mandos. “Don’t be afraid, hína, I won’t hurt you.” Mandos reached out to him. “Come to me, hína, you are hurting. Let me ease your suffering.”

Mablung shook his head. “I killed an elf.” “That is long forgiven.” Mablung longed for death as seldom before in his life. He didn’t want to wake up, he didn’t want to live through another of these days, but... “If I stay, I will never see him again”, he said softly. “Not even in a dream. As long as I live, I can hope that someday something will change, but when I’m dead, we’ll be parted forever.” Mablung opened his eyes, waking. Was it really true? Did he hope against all reason? He clenched his fists. “If I ever get out of here, I’ll sail and ask for mercy for you”, he promised Melkor. It was time to go home.

 

~*~*~

 

“Are we looking at the animals today, daddy?” King Tarkun laughed and lifted his son on his horse. “Yes, we are. Hold on.” Sharonn stopped fidgeting and clutched the horse’s mane. Tarkun mounted behind him and wrapped his arm around him. Sharonn had spoken of nothing but the animals for the last days and today he had finally time to take him to the city. Tarkun didn’t like locking animals in cages, but for his little son he made an exception. He nodded to the captain of his guard, they were ready to leave.

 

Mablung enjoyed the cool evening and the silence. Normally, there were a lot of visitors at this time of the day. He didn’t know why it was different today, but he didn’t care. The rest was welcome. He heard voices, Ashkan led a man, who held the hand of a little boy, around the menagerie. He could see that it was someone important, he wore expensive clothes and Ashkan treated him with respect.

Mablung watched them going around until they came to him. “Come closer”, Ashkan barked at him and Mablung skidded closer to the bars. Normally he hid himself in the shadows in the back, but he knew that he would be beaten if he defied Ashkan. The boy, he was maybe six or seven years old, asked something and reached out with his hand.

 

Tarkun stopped his son before he could put his hand between the bars. “No, Sharonn”, he said. Sharonn looked at him with big eyes. “Why not?” “Look at him, Sharonn. Wouldn’t you take him for a normal man if you didn’t know that he is an elf?” “Yes, but...” “And how would you feel if all this people would stare at you and would try to touch you?” “I wouldn’t like that.” Sharonn lowered his hand. Tarkun gritted his teet, he really wanted to tell the owner of the menagerie what he thought of him.

What he had offered him to do with the elf, was disgusting. Yes, they had slaves, and for this things, too, but they did treat them well and although this elf was, strictly speaking, an enemy... He was the only elf he had ever seen, Tarkun was curious. He was beautiful in an otherworldly way. He looked around twenty-five, but when their eyes met, Tarkun felt that he was much older. This man had to have such a big store of knowledge and this slimy fellow paraded him like an animal and lent him to the highest bidder.

When they left the menagerie, Sharonn said softly: “Daddy, I feel bad for the elf. Can’t you help him?” Tarkun ruffled his hair and nodded slowly. He couldn’t just take him away, but if they found that the owner had broken the law... Tarkun grinned and called his captain. They would find something. These lowlifes always had something to hide.

 

Mablung woke from the racket and saw the flicker of torches around the cages. Armed guards kept Ashkan and his men at bay and searched the tents. Ashkan argued loudly with one of the soldiers. Mablung didn’t understand a word, he had never been so far south-east and the language was foreign to him. The captain was called to one of the tents and came back with a grim look on his face. Mablung didn’t need to understand the words to know what was going on, he watched with a gleeful smile as Ashkan and his men were marched off.

He shrank back when the captain came to his cage and unlocked the door. “Don’t be afraid. Come, the king wants to speak with you.” Mablung stared at the human dumbfounded. He spoke Quenya! His accent was horrible, but... “The king?” “He looked at you today and...” The man struggled for words and swore softly. “I speak Umbarin”, Mablung said and stepped warily out of the cage, Irmo’s stone clutched in his hand, he wouldn’t leave it behind. He had to hold onto the bars because his legs trembled so much. “Please, do you have water?”

“Of course.” The man gave him a waterskin and Mablung drank gratefully. “My king felt pity for you”, the captain continued. “It is good that you speak Umbarin, we feared we wouldn’t be able to communicate with you. My name is Rashil. I’m the captain of the Guard of His Majesty the King of Diarat.” “I’m Mablung. Where did you learn to speak Quenya?” Mablung gave the skin back and followed him slowly to the horses. “A wise man taught me. I’m afraid, I don’t speak it very well.”

“I didn’t expect anyone in this place to speak my language”, Mablung answered with a smile. “It is music in my ears.” He needed help to mount the horse and was relieved when the captain took the reins and led it. Mablung was reeling, he needed all his concentration to not fall off. They rode at foot-pace, because of him likely, but his body hurt at every movement of the horse. A gate was opened and closed behind them. Mablung was so weak on his legs that he needed help to walk up the stairs to the palace. Rashil supported him.

“Do you need a healer? His Majesty ordered to give you every help you need.” Mablung shook his head, he wasn’t hurt that badly. “Now that I’m free, my wounds will heal. But thank you.” Rashil led him to a bedroom with high, airy ceiling, curtains waved in a cool wind. A pitcher with water and a bowl with fresh fruit stood on a table. “I'll leave you now, Mablung. Should you wish for anything, ring the bell.” Rashil pointed to a cord that hung next to the bed and was threaded through a hole in the wall.

“The servants speak Umbarin, you will be able to make yourself understood. My king will want to talk to you tomorrow. You can rest easy now.” “Thank you, captain, for everything.” Mablung bowed. “What this man did to you was wrong. Good night.” Mablung washed with water that smelled of roses, ate a few dates and drank from the water. Cool water could taste so good... Mablung laid down, the sheets pleasantly smooth on his skin, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and endlessly relived that he had escaped Ashkan. He felt a little unsure because he didn’t know what plans the king had with him, but he could worry about that tomorrow. He rolled on his side and soon fell asleep.


	52. Chapter Fifty-One

He woke from a soft sound, is body tensed instinctively. Mablung opened his eyes a little and relaxed relieved when he saw that it was only a servant who brought fresh water. Mablung sat up and pushed his hair back with his fingers. Ashkan had cut it short so that his ears could be seen and now they were tousled. The servant fell to his knees and pressed the forehead to the floor. Mablung gluped, he only was used to this from the other side.

“I’m bringing you your breakfast, Master. How can I be of service?”, the servant – slave? – asked softly. He spoke Umbarin, apparently they had prepared him that he didn’t speak the local language. “Please, stand up”, Mablung said, he couldn’t talk with someone who knelt before him. “As you wish, Master.”

He was young, it was difficult for him to estimate the age of humans, but this one couldn’t be older than twenty. Is skin was of a dark brown, his hair black. He only wore a white skirt, his upper body was bare. “Do you have time to tell me a little about this land or do you have work to do?” Mablung wanted to learn more before he met the king, but he didn’t want to get the servant into trouble. “I’m completely at your service, Master.” The servant bowed. “I was ordered to fulfil your every wish, because my Umbarin is good.”

“Then tell me, where am I? What’s the name of this country, this city?” “You are in the capital Armat of the kingdom Diarat.” Mablung had heard of Diarat, it was famous to produce the finest linen in the south. He was farther in the south than ever before. He was lucky that Umbar traded with the kingdom. He ate a fig from the plate the servant had brought. “What’s your name?” “Fialsi, Master”, the servant answered hesitantly. “But you don’t have to remember my name.”

“Are you a free man or a slave, Fialsi? Please forgive me if I’m too nosy, but I want to learn as much about this land as possible.” “You don’t have to apologize, Master. I’m a slave since I was born.” “Will you do me a favour, Fialsi? Tell me everything about this land and tell it to me as if I were a child who doesn’t know anything that is common knowledge.” Fialsi looked warily at him, as if he weren’t sure if he made fun of him.

“Well”, he started slowly. “King Tarkun is our ruler, his family reigns since ten generations. He is a good king, we live in peace and wealth under him, after his grandfather and father, glory to their memory, waged a lot of wars to extend the realm. The king has many daughters but only one son, Prince Sharonn, whom he loves above everything. There are different classes that live strictly separate. There’s the nobility, who rule the country’s region, but most of them live in the capital and let stewards manage their lands.

Then there are the priests, they were very influential once, but King Tarkun’s grandfather, glory to his memory, has reduced their rights. After the priests come the merchants and craftsmen like linen weavers, gold- and silversmiths, who make our land prosper, then the more ordinary craftsmen, fishers and peasants. And last the slaves.”

“How does one become a slave?” “Either by birth, if the mother is a slave, her children will be too, or you can be enslaved if you can’t pay your debts – but only for a set time. Some crimes are punished by enslavement to and sometimes the King changes a death sentence to slavery. When we were at war, the prisoners were made slaves, too.” Mablung wanted to pour himself a cup of water, but Fialsi was faster and offered him the cup with a small bow. “Thank you. You seem to be trained well.”

Fialsis dark cheeks turned even darker. “Thank you, Master. I was born into the service of the Duke of Tria and was trained to wait on his guests. He gifted me to the King two years ago and since then I attend to the guests of His Majesty.” There was pride in his voice. “You don’t think it bad to not be free?”

Filasi shook his head. “I was trained well so I’m able to converse with my Master’s guests. I have a roof over my head and always enough to eat, I’m treated well. There may be places, where it isn’t good to be a slave, but here in the palace it’s easy. We aren’t punished with strokes, except for an escape attempt or if a guest insists on it. That is the only difference between my treatment and that of a free servant. You can’t beat a servant, so if a guest is displeased, he gets his wages reduced.”

“I understand.” And he did, Mablung could understand that one could be happy even while being unfree. He rubbed his chest, the metal of the rings was warm from his body. “I’d like to get up now. Do you have clothes for me? I’m afraid, my things didn’t survive the journey.” “Of course, Master, I was instructed to bring clothes for you. Do you want me to dress you?” Fialsi lifted a pile of clothes from a chair.

Because Mablung wasn’t sure, how to put the local dress on, he said ‘yes’ and stood up warily. He felt much better, but his body was still a little stiff and sore. “And mind that I’m new here, Fialsi, I have no idea what is proper in this land. Speak bluntly, I want to make a good impression, when I meet the King.” Fialsi examined him from head to toe and lifted one of his arms. “You have good skin, Master, little hair. I’ll shave your arms and legs, if you allow.” Mablung lifted his eyebrows. “Is that common?” Fialsi nodded. “Forgive me, if I say that, but body hair his thought of as barbaric.” Mablung grinned. “Well, then turn me into a civilised elf.”

 

Mablung’s skin tingled from the scraping of the razor, Fialsi had been very thorough and had even shaved him between the legs after he had asked again for permission. He was sure that there wasn’t any hair left on his body, beside the hair on his head. Now Fialsi rubbed an oil that smelled of lemon on his skin, it burned a little in the welts on his back. Fialsi hadn't said a word about his injuries, he just touched them more gently.

Mablung closed his eyes, he sat in front of the washstand and could have fallen asleep right there. It felt so good how the young human massaged the oil into his skin, he had combed his hair with a bit of oil, too, that hadn’t made it sticky but only tamed it. “Alright”, Fialsi cleaned his hands on a cloth. “A little khol and you are ready. Please close your eyes.” Mablung obeyed and felt a soft brush applying paint around his eyes.

“It protects the eyes from the sunlight and accents them”, Fialsi explained, his eyes were outlined in black paint, too, although he lacked the line that he drew from the corners of Mablung’s eyes to his temple. “Very good.” Fialsi held up a polished bronze disk that served as mirror. Mablung almost didn’t recognise himself with the khol around his eyes, he looked foreign, but not bad. “Do you wish a shirt, Master, or will you wear only the skirt.”

“What would be more common?” “The King will probably receive you in the afternoon, as he hasn’t yet called for you. Normally, shirts are only worn late in the evening, when it gets cooler, but I've heard that people in the north don’t wear such revealing clothes. If you feel uncomfortable...”

Mablung shook his head smiling. “I don’t have a problem with showing my body, even less now that you tried so hard to make me presentable.” Fialsi looked shyly at the floor. “That is my duty, Master. So, only the skirt?” Mablung nodded and stood up. Fialsi wrapped the knee-length skirt around his hip and tied it with a blue belt that was of linen, too. His feet were put in fine sandals of pale leather. Finally, Fialsi slid a wide bronze bracelet set with turquoise on his upper arm. “Now you look almost like a native, if you allow me to say it, Master.”

Mablung smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. Thank you for your help, Fialsi.” “I’m proud to be able to be of use to you, Master.” Fialsi bowed. “But I get carried away. It is late, you are surely hungry.” “I wouldn’t mind something to eat.” The plate with fruit that Fialsi had brought was empty. “I’m running.” Fialsi bowed and left the room backwards.

Mablung hoped that Fialsi would thaw a little if he stayed here longer as guest, he wasn’t yet sure about what the King wanted to do with him. Maybe he could persuade Fialsi to address him by his name, given time. He knew that he couldn’t rush it, he remembered very well how overwhelmed he had been, when Mormirion had asked him to treat him like an equal.

 

Mablung knelt before the King and waited until he indicated him to stand. The King received him on the terrace of his study. “Sit”, he said and pointed to a chair opposite him. “I hope, you are feeling better.” “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for my rescue.” “My son asked me for it and I can’t refuse him a wish. Besides, it was unlawful to keep you captive without a reason.” Mablung grimaced. “It wasn’t wholly without reason. I tried to free their animals, they took it badly.”

To his surprise, the King laughed. “Well, that was unlawful, too, but as I’m not fond of these menageries myself, I’ll act as if I didn’t hear your confession.” Mablung smiled shyly. “Thank you, Your Majesty. May I ask, what you have planned for me? I’d like to leave as soon as possible, I have something to finish.” He hadn’t forgotten the promise he had given Melkor. He had run away for far too long, now he would do, what he had to, to get him back.

“I’m afraid, that won’t be possible.” The King mustered him as if he tried to gauge how Mablung would react to the bad news. “You are an elf, an enemy, if we are particular about it. I don’t intend to treat you like a captive if you don’t force me to do it, but I can’t let you go. My nobles and the priests would take it ill, if I did. Stay as my guest. There are already rumours of an elf in the palace, you wouldn’t come far until someone would catch you again. I can keep you save here in the palace, no one will dare harm my guest. And... You are very old, aren’t you?”

Mablung nodded hesitantly. “I have seen much.” “I thought so. You are the first elf I ever met and I would like to hear your story. It would be my pleasure if you’d tell one of my chroniclers about you: Where you come from. How the elves live. What you believe in. Will you stay?” He hadn’t really a choice. “I’ll stay as your guest. It’s an honour, Your Majesty.” “Daddy?” The eyes of the King became soft when he turned to his son who stood in the door to the terrace. “Sharonn, my boy.”

The little boy ran to his father and looked shyly at Mablung. He whispered something to the King that Mablung didn’t understand. “He’s asking if you feel better.” The King smiled. “You can tell your son, that I’m well again, Your Majesty. And that I thank him for requesting my freedom.” The boy stared at him with big eyes, when Mablung bowed to him.

The King stood up and Mablung rose likewise. “I’ll send you the chronicler tomorrow afternoon. You aren’t a prisoner, I want to emphasize that, you can walk around the palace freely. Has a servant been assigned to you?” Mablung nodded. “I’m very pleased with him.” “Then you shall keep him.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll gladly speak to your chronicler.”

 

Mablung had eaten dinner being served by Fialsi. “I’ll go to bed now", he said with a yawn. “May I remove the khol, Master?” Mabung nodded and sat before the washstand. He closed his eyes and Fialsi wiped the paint away with a sponge. He felt a little awkward being served but he pushed the feeling away. He knew perfectly well that he would make Fialsi nervous if he tried to place him on the same level with himself. He thanked him nonetheless when Fialsi had finished the task.

Mablung stood up and opened the knot of his belt when he went to the bed. He paused taken aback when he turned around, Fialsi had undressed as well and knelt naked before him. “Fialsi, there is no need for this.” Mablung touched his cheek. “Dress yourself. You can go now.” “Yes, Master, forgive me.” Fialsi bowed. “I didn’t want to offend you.” “You don’t need to apologise. That is something, too, that a free servant wouldn’t be acquired to do, isn’t it?” Fialsi shook his head. “I’m trained for this, Master, if you want me...”

Mablung shook his head. “No, Fialsi, when I sleep with someone, I do it because we both want it. Please, leave now.” When Fialsi had left the room, Mablung let himself fall back and rubbed his face groaning. He hadn’t anticipated this. Maybe he should have seen it coming, but... No, he could never do it. Especially now, when he had been raped not long ago. Fialsi reminded him of himself when he had been younger, he could relate so well to what the boy was feeling.

Mablung wrapped himself in the blanket and closed his eyes. He had to stay, because the King wished it, but as soon as he had an opportunity to leave, he would sail. “Melkor”, he whispered. “Melkor, I miss you so much.” Would the Valar listen to him? He was only an elf, without connections and without a great name. Mablung shook his head. He would fight, he had run long enough, he would fight for his beloved.

 

Tarkun knocked at the elf’s door that was opened by a slave a moment later. Mablung sat on the balcony, he stood up when he saw him and bowed. “Your Majesty. How can I be of service?” “I bring my chronicler. As I have a little time, I thought, I’d accompany him. I have questions.” Tarkun sat and told Mablung to do so, too. The scribe spread a papyrus on his board and wet his inkstone. The slave brought them to drink and retreated to the door.

“How old are you, Mablung?” “It must be around seven millennia, I can’t tell exactly. You stop counting when you reach a certain age.” Tarkun perceived the lilting accent of the elf as pleasant. His head spun when he tried to imagine such an enormous lifespan. “Then you must have seen the great wars against the Highest God and his Lieutenant.” Tarkun wasn’t very religious, his father hadn’t thought much of the priests and although they paid their tribute... the Fiery Land and it’s king were far away.

It was... interesting, that the elf might have fought against the Mightiest. He didn’t hate him for it, all that was so far away, in time as well as in place. “Not directly.” Something was in the eyes of the elf that told him, that he held something back. “I wasn’t a soldier, never. I didn’t fight on a battlefield.” He sighed. “How much do you know about the Making of the World and the history of the elves?”

“Not much”, Tarkun admitted. He was deeply mistrustful regarding the tales of the priests, that was why he was so interested in the elf. “May I start to tell you about these matters? My own story will make more sense with the background. I know that you might have heard it differently from your priests, but I beg you to listen to me. I’ll tell you from the viewpoint of an elf.”

 

Mablung ended with the Rape of the Silmaril. “I stood in the crowd when Feanor and his sons swore their oath.” He had told him of his own youth, too, of how the childhood of elves was. “I decided to go with them. I was young and wanted to get away from my father who I felt constrained me. Glorfindel, a friend of mine, wanted to dissuade me, but I didn’t listen to him. I didn’t even go home before I left, because I feared that my parents would try to hold me back. I didn’t say goodbye.”

Mablung took a sip, his mouth was dry. He didn’t want to talk of Alqualonde today, he had to think his words out first. The King tapped his fingers together. “I confess, it isn’t easy to swallow, to hear my God described as murderer and thief.” Mablung bowed. “I understand that, Your Majesty.” How could it be different? These humans had come under Sauron’s influence many generations ago. “But it is the truth. I would like to learn your language.”

The King smiled. “I’ll find a teacher for you.” “Thank you, Your Majesty, you are very generous.” He could manage with Umbarin, but Mablung liked to learn languages and he wanted to be able to converse with the King in his native tongue. “I want you to feel comfortable. If you wish for something, don’t hesitate to ask for it. I have to leave now.” Tarkun stood up. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Same time?”

“I look forward to it, Your Majesty.” Mablung stood up and bowed deeply. “A good day to you, Your Majesty.” When the king and his chronicler had left, he turned to Fialsi. The sun already stood near the horizon. “I’d like to take my dinner now and maybe you could show me around the palace after.” “Of course, Master. What do you wish to eat?” Mablung shrugged. “I’m not picky. Bring something, that you like, too. I want you to keep me company.”

Fialsi looked startled when he bowed and left the room. Mablung emptied his cup, dry wine laced with water. He knew of course that you didn’t invite your servant to eat with you, least of all a slave, but he wasn’t a Master. He wasn’t used to being attended. It wasn’t completely new to him, he had been Thranduil’s valet, but he had also been Legolas’ chosen father, a part of the family, and he had been treated accordingly. But he had never had a personal servant and he wouldn’t have wanted it, he could care for himself.

Fialsi was more an opportunity to learn more about Diarat and its people, and he suspected that the boy would have been punished if he dismissed him. They would think that he had displeased him. No, Mablung didn’t want to get the boy into trouble, but he wouldn’t treat him like a slave, either, he couldn’t. The sun went down but it was still so warm that Mablung stayed outside. “Sit down with me”, he asked Fialsi when the slave brought the food.

“Are you sure, Master?”, he asked warily. “I don’t want to be disrespectful.” Mablung smiled and patted on the chair beside him. “It isn’t disrespectful if I ask you for it. Eat with me, Fialsi.” Mablung divided the duck and put it on two plates. “That is too good for me, Master.” “Nonsense.” There were cooked vegetables and flatbread, too. “Who else should eat all this. I can’t eat a whole duck.” Mablung didn’t discuss anymore and started to eat. The meat was juicy and tasted of foreign spices. It was delicious, simply wonderful after he had lived on bread and water for the last year.

“Thank you, Master.” Fialsi ate haltingly, as if he feared that Mablung would change his mind. “Tell me about you, Fialsi. How is your life?” “I sleep in the servant’s quarters, normally I eat in the kitchen. It is a good life, I even am allowed to have contact with my family. Once a month we can dictate a letter to a scribe. They are sent at His Majesty's cost and read to our relatives.”

Fialsi looked at him shyly. “Why do you take such interest in me, Master? At first, I thought you are so nice to me because you want to have sex with me. Some Masters like to pretend that I’m not a slave, if they sleep with me, but...” Mablung shook his head. “I’m not used to have a slave, I don’t want to treat you like this.” “Elves don’t keep slaves?” “No, and I’m not a noble, I was a servant myself.”

Mablung hesitated, but he would come to this part tomorrow and Fialsi would hear it then anyway. “And a slave. I was in Angband, I belonged to Melkor.” Fialsi stared at him with open mouth. “You served the God? How... was he?” Mablung turned the cup between his fingers. “Hard. He hated us elves and he enjoyed to hurt his slaves. But he could be gentle, too, and...” Mablung shook his head. “I loved him, I still do. If I could, I would return to him.”

“And he? Did he love you, too?” “Yes.” Mablung smiled sadly. “He didn’t show me. He couldn’t admit it, I was a slave, after all, but at the end I learned that he loved me, too.” “That sounds like a fairy tale.” “A sad fairy tale. I lost him.” Mablung shook his head and drank deeply. “Let’s talk of something else. Tell me about your religion.”

“We worship Melkor as our God. The others, the ones you call Valar, weren’t interested in humans, but he helped us. He gave us our language and civilisation. He asked tribute in exchange and we still offer him sacrifices. We believe that one day he will cast off his chains and come back to rule us. King Mairon of the Fiery Land is his Lieutenant, we owe him allegiance when he calls.” “So you wait for Melkor.” Mablung cracked a smile. “We have something in common there.” Not that he believed the Valar would ever let him go.

“You don’t think it offensive? We are at war with the Northerners because of it.” Mablung shrugged. “It needs getting used to, I won’t deny it.” Mablung stabbed at a piece of vegetable. “Angband wasn’t pretty and to think of Melkor as a benevolent god is hard for me. And the one you call Mairon... he tortured a friend of mine to death and me almost as well.”

“Benevolent God isn’t maybe the right word. Melkor isn’t a gentle God, we know that. We offer him blood sacrifices. We believe that he can hear us in his prison and that our sacrifices give him strength.” Mablung looked across the room to his nightstand where the stone that Irmo had given him and the leather case with Melkor’s letter in it lay. Somehow he had saved his most precious possessions through his captivity.

He had seen Melkor in his prison, how ill he was. It would be nice, if these people really could give him strength. “What do you offer?” “Animals. Goats, cattle.” Fialsi halted, as if he wasn’t sure how much to tell and Mablung decided not to inquire further. Sometimes it was better, not to know. Fialsi looked desirously at the last piece of duck and Mablung pushed the plate across the table.

“Eat, I’ve had enough.” “Sure?” “Completely.” Mablung leaned back. “I have to get used to a bountiful table again.” It had turned completely dark by now. Mablung looked at the lamps that lighted the palace wall and yawned. “Do you want to go to bed, Master?” Mablung nodded. “I think, that will be the best.” He could explore the palace another time.


	53. Chapter Fifty-Two

_2968 T.A._

Sharonn sat near one of the lily ponds in the palace garden and enjoyed the afternoon. He was alone, of course he could have spent the time with one of his wives – or a slave – but he had been in the mood for other company. He tried to dispel his disgruntlement. Mablung could go wherever he wanted. He had searched for him, but he hadn’t been able to find him. Although he told himself that Mablung was a free man and didn’t have to wait for his call, a part of him felt neglected.

He was crown prince, prince regent since his birthday a few months ago, Mablung should take more notice of him. His appointment to prince regent was part of the problem. It was a great honour for him, but this honour entailed a lot of work and obligations he hadn’t had before. Mablung had always been so close, when he was still a child. When his father was too buried in work to play with him, Mablung had always had time for him.

He had told him stories. Of the goddess who had put the stars in the sky. Of trees that glowed. Of brave men who did the impossible. Forbidden stories. If the priests would have heard that Mablung told such heretic stories, they would insist on him being sacrificed. Not that the King would have allowed it. Sharonn knew that his father liked these stories as much as he did. He had had them written down and kept the papyri in his study.

Mablung was so different from the courtiers, who always just tried to please the prince. Not that Mablung was disrespectful, but he didn’t allow him to push him around. He went his own ways. But still they had spent a lot of time together, when Sharonn had been younger and he missed that. He sat up, when he heard soft voices on one of the paths. Mablung and his slave were taking a walk. Sharonn hid behind a shrub and watched them through the leaves.

They talked too quietly for him to understand them, but they looked so happy. If he hadn’t known the man to be slave, he would have taken them for equals and when Mablung laughed about something the slave had said, hot jealousy gnawed on him. This laugh should belong to him and not a slave. Where had they been when Sharonn had looked for Mablung? If he had found him, Mablung would be with him now. Who did the slave think he were that he treated his Master so disrespectfully? If someone was close friends with Mablung, then it was him, the crown prince, and not an unimportant slave! He would teach him a lesson.

 

Fialsi took his leave of Mablung for the night and walked back to the servant’s quarters. They had eaten their dinner together as was their habit, when Mablung wasn’t invited elsewhere. If he ate with the King or one of the nobles, Fialsi couldn’t sit with the Masters, of course. “Fialsi, the Prince asked for you, you better hurry.” He had barely closed the door behind himself when Grenil spoke to him. “The Prince?” Fialsi was surprised. Why hadn’t he sent someone to Mablung? If he knew him, he had to know that he served Mablung.

Although he did belong to the King and was only lent to Mablung, it wasn’t usual to call for him behind his Master’s back. Fialsi turned around and hurried to the Prince’s rooms. He knew the way, he had attended Mablung there often. The Prince waited for him in his bed room and dismissed his own slave, who had let Fialsi in. Fialsi knelt, his forehead pressed to the cool marble tiles. “My Prince sent for me?”

He could imagine, why he was here and he was all the more surprised that Mablung didn’t seem to know about it. On the other hand, Mablung would have probably tried to save him from it, maybe the Prince knew that. “What is the punishment for disrespectful behaviour towards your Master, slave?” The Prince sounded cold, Fialsi shivered. “Five to fifty strokes of the cane on soles or buttocks, Your Highness.”

“Lift your skirt, slave.” Fialsi gulped. “How did I offend you, Your Highness”, he dared to ask while he pushed the linen up until his bottom was bare. He flinched surprised when the cane bit into his skin for the first time. “You must have thought that I wouldn’t notice that you take advantage of Mablung’s goodness, slave.” There was wrath in the Prince’s voice. Fialsi moaned when further strokes hit him.

“I saw how you treat him when you are alone. Have you forgotten what you are, slave?” “No, Your Highness.” Fialsi sobbed. “Please, it isn’t as you think. Mablung asked me to treat him like this!” “How dare you address him by his name?” Every stroke was burning pain on his skin. “Mablung isn’t from here, he doesn’t know how to treat slaves. You’ll treat him as it is due to him as a guest of His Majesty, or I’ll have you whipped in public!”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Fialsi closed his eyes and endured the punishment. He had forgotten how much it hurt. When he had been a boy, in training, he had often been beaten and later once or twice but not since he served Mablung. His Prince was right. He had been allured by Mablung’s kindness and had become disrespectful toward him. No slave should act like he had.

 

Mablung sat up and yawned. “How is the weather today, Fialsi?”, he asked with a smile. It was a joke between them, since Mablung had commented on the weather in Diarat being always sunny and warm. “Fine, Master. What do you wish to wear today?” Mablung looked at Fialsi surprised. He knew that tone of voice and he hadn’t heard it from him for more than ten years – not when they were alone. “The blue one.” Mablung pointed to the light-blue dyed skirt and stood up. “But I can dress myself, you know that.”

Fialsi bowed wordlessly and turned to the washstand. He moved stiffly, as if in pain. Mablung watched him frowning while he tied his skirt. They remained silent when Fialsi combed his hair and painted his eyes. Something was very wrong. Mablung sat at the table on the balcony where he liked to take his meals and pointed at the chair across from him. “Sit with me.” He didn’t need to say this anymore, normally, they had become friends.

“That would be disrespectful, Master”, Fialsi answered with a bow, he didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s only disrespectful if your Master perceives it so, I thought we had established that, Fialsi. Sit, that’s an order.” Fialsi obeyed stiffly and grimaced in pain. “Who has beaten you, Fialsi?” Fialsi flinched alarmed. “I’m not blind. What happened?” Mablung pushed his breakfast aside, eating could wait. “The Prince sent for me yesterday night. He thinks that I don’t show you the proper deference, Master.”

Fialsi finally looked at him. “And he is right. You are a very kind man, Master, I took advantage of you. He punished me for that. Please, forgive me.” Mablung shook his head. “This little... Who does he think he is?” He touched Fialsi’s cheek. “You always were respectful as long as I let you. Had I wanted a slave, I would have had one. You are my friend, Fialsi, I thought, you knew this. And the Prince is going to get an earful.”

Fialsi opened his eyes wide. “No, Master, please. He’s going to take vengeance on me. He said, he would have me whipped publicly, if I treat you disrespectfully again.” “I’ll know how to prevent that.” Mablung stood up. “Undress and lie down on the bed, I want to look at your injuries.” “It’s not so bad, Master”, Fialsi tried to put him off. “If you call me ‘Master’ one more time, _I’ll_ get angry, Fialsi. Let me look at this.”

Fialsi opened the knot of his skirt hesitatingly and lay down on his belly. Mablung clicked his tongue in displeasure. His backside was covered in narrow, red welts, a few were bloody. It weren’t bad injuries but he was in pain. Mablung looked at the washstand where various ointments and oils stood, nothing that was made for tending to injuries, but... He took the almond oil, it was mixed with honey and marigold. Not a true healing ointment but better than nothing.

“Mablung, that’s...” “It is necessary”, Mablung cut him short, he was angry at Sharonn. “Sorry, I didn’t want to snap at you.” Gently, he applied the oil to the sore skin. “It isn’t your fault. I don’t understand why he thought he had to do this. It’s my business how I treat my slave. Was it a cane?” Fialsi nodded. “He said, because you are a foreigner, you don’t know how to treat a slave and I would take advantage of that fact.”

Mablung huffed. “If someone knows what befits a slave, it’s me. And I know, too, that it is always the Master who decides how strictly the rules are followed. I want you as my friend, Fialsi. I can dress myself, I can comb myself, not to mention getting myself food or lining my eyes. I don’t need a slave, who does this things for me and much less a slave, who warms my bed.

I know, too, that it isn’t proper but as long as I don’t take you along to invitations as my friend, it is an arrangement between you and me and the Prince will have to learn that. I’m sorry that you were beaten because of me. Are you still my friend, Fialsi?” Fialsi gripped his hand. “Of course, I’m your friend, Mablung.” He had tears in his eyes. Mablung kissed his temple. “Stay there for a while. I’ll go visit the Prince.”

 

Mablung knocked and was led in by one of Sharonn’s servants. “Is His Highness still here?” Sharonn wasn’t the fastest in the morning. “Yes, but I don’t think, that...” Mablung pushed him aside and walked into Sharonn’s bedroom. The Prince’s chest was just being oiled. “Good Morning, Sharonn.” Mablung crossed his arms. “Mablung! What can I do for you?” Sharonn didn’t look him in the eye. “I have to talk to you. Alone.” Mablung threw a meaningful glance at the servants. Sharonn sent them away.

“What is so important?” “I just tended to the welts you left on Fialsi’s skin!” Mablung trembled with anger. “How dare you beat my servant!” “Strictly speaking he is not _your_ slave, he belongs to my father.” “You still had no right to do this!”, Mablung snapped at him. “How dare you presume to be able to judge if he treats me disrespectfully!” “I saw you in the garden yesterday. One wouldn’t think, he is a slave when one sees him talking to you!”

“I encouraged him to treat me like this! Fialsi is my friend.” “He is property, Mablung. You don’t treat property like a friend!” Mablung slapped Sharonn’s face hard. Sharon stared startled at him. “I thought, your father had brought you up better.” Mablung gulped down a knot in his throat.

“He isn’t free, but that doesn’t make him less of a person than you. Do you really want to be such a king? Someone who despises the people who serve him?” Mablung shook his head. Sharonn had followed him everywhere as a child, had drilled him with questions and wanted to play with him. He was a little spoiled, the only son and heir to the throne, his father doted on him, but ultimately he was a good boy – he had thought. “I’m disappointed with you.” Mablung turned away.

 

Sharonn felt tears in his eyes, his cheek burned from the slap. Mablung’s words cut into his heart. He had only wanted Mablung to spend time with him! He needed to stop him before he left! “Mablung, wait.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I was... jealous.” Mablung turned to him again and looked at him with this grey eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. “Jealous.” Mablung lifted his eyebrows.

Sharonn lowered his head in shame. “You looked so happy and we don’t see each other much. I had searched for you, yesterday, but I couldn’t find you and then I see you laughing with this slave.” “So you tried to persuade him that he is worthless and that he takes advantage of my kindness.” Mablung’s tone of voice could only be described as growl. “Do you have an idea how long it took me to convince him that I want his friendship? You’ll leave him alone or your father hears of it.”

Sharonn nodded and wiped his eyes so his tears wouldn’t run over. He knew that his father wouldn’t be pleased with his actions. “You are my friend, Sharonn.” Mablung’s voice was more gentle now. “But Fialsi is too, not more and not less than you. You can’t keep me for yourself, even though you are the Prince and you’ll have to accept that.” “Yes, Mablung, I understand.” Sharonn dared to look at him again. He was so beautiful.

When he had been a child, Mablung had been interesting – an elf, a real elf – but as he grew older, something else added to the fascination. It would have been easier if his father had made him a slave... Sharonn shook his head. It was selfish to think like that. After all that Mablung had lived through, it would have been cruel to enslave him.

“How is he?” He wasn’t really interested. He still saw the slave as rival. “You hurt him.” Mablung’s eyes flashed. “I’d love nothing better than to show you how that cane feels!” Sharonn pulled his shoulders up to his ears. He was the Prince, he had never been beaten, even when he ran riot. “Mablung, I...”

“Ah well, relax.” Mablung smiled wryly. “You are the crown prince, you grew up with the knowledge that you can get everything you want. Considering that you were spoiled so much, you grew up a fine person. Let us go swimming this afternoon.” “Gladly.” Sharonn would have to cancel a lesson with his language teacher, but he didn’t care. Mablung was more important – and swimming meant that he would see him naked. Maybe...

 

Mablung plunged into the cool, clear water of the pool and enjoyed the prickling on his skin. He loved the warmth of the south, it had finally chased the coldness of the Helcaraxe from his body, but a refreshing bath when the sun burned from the sky, was a wonderful privilege. When he ran out of air, he surfaced again. Sharonn swam over. They were alone, Sharonn knew that Mablung didn’t like to have servants around him all the time, so he had sent them away, only his guard stood out of earshot and ensured the Prince’s safety.

“Your skin is almost as dark as that of a local.” Sharonn held his own lower arm beside his to compare the hue. Mablung laughed. “No one would take me for a local.” “Not with that hair, no. I never understood why you wear it so long.” Sharonn’s dark hair was so short that it stood like spikes from his head, now that it was wet. Mablung’s locks went down to his hip, although he wore it in a bun most of the time.

“Did I never tell you? Where I come from, short hair is a sign of slavery.” He enjoyed to wear it so long, nothing would keep him from it, certainly not a human fashion. “No, you never said that. Still, I imagine it to be very time consuming.” Mablung shrugged. “It’s easier here because it is always so warm. When it is winter in the north, you have to consider if you’ll get it dry again if you wash it. And I admit, it has some merit to have a servant who brushes it.” He smiled at Sharonn. “It’s very relaxing."

“So he’s a servant after all!” Sharonn sounded so triumphant that Mablung had to laugh. “Fialsi _is_ a servant, it’s his profession, but he can still be my friend.” Sharonn shook his head. “That’s hard for me to understand.” Mablung laid his arm around the Prince’s shoulders. “I understand that, Sharonn, it’s in your upbringing. You had always servants and slaves around you, since your birth, but they are humans with a life, too. When you are King, they will be your subjects.” Mablung had never been able to understand how you could dismiss such a big part of your people as property who weren’t allowed to have their own mind.

 

Sharonn lay in the short grass and let himself be dried by the sun. Mablung lay beside him, so close that he would have been able to touch him if he reached out. Sharonn had heard that people in the north did wrap themselves in a lot of clothes and never showed themselves naked, but Mablung didn’t seem to have an issue with it. Sharonn looked at him from the corner of his eye, his friend had closed his eyes, the metal in his skin glinted in the sunlight.

Sharonn swallowed hard, his mouth was dry. He knew that Mablung’s attitude toward lying with men was different than what was common in Diarat. For him it was not something you could only do with a slave. But still... what would he think if Sharonn showed him his interest? He reached out slowly and caressed Mablung’s sun-warm skin. Mablung opened one eye and looked at him. Sharonn wasn’t able to read his gaze. “Mablung...” He licked his lips. “I...” He leaned forward and kissed him.

Mablung tensed but returned the kiss after a moment. Sharonn closed his eyes, his finger’s caressed Mablung’s smooth skin. He didn’t care what consequences this kiss would have, he would enjoy it as long as it lasted. Mablung moved away far too early and looked at him with serious eyes.  “Sharonn, why did you do this?” “Why?” Sharonn felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “You are beautiful and... I want you.” Sharonn drew back when Mablung sat up.

“I’m not a slave.” Mablung’s voice was calm, he didn’t sound offended, but Sharonn realised that it was important, what he said next. “I know that, Mablung, I’d never see you like that. But... you said yourself that elves don’t consider it to be a crime if free men do it.” “That’s true, but here it is.” “I don’t care!” Sharonn bit his lower lip. “It’s... I do my duty. I know that I have to bring children into the world, but I was always more attracted by men than women. And you are the most beautiful man that I know. Besides...”

He hesitated, because he wasn’t sure if Mablung would get him right. “No one beside you would have dared to come to me this morning and complain that I punished your slave – or that you would like to let me feel the pain. I like, that you don’t tell me what I want to hear because I’m the Prince. That you give me a piece of your mind.” Mablung smiled softly. “I’m glad that you say that. I realise that I’m only a guest as long as I’m well-liked by the King. You could make my life very difficult.”

Sharonn shook his head. “Father wouldn’t make you a prisoner just because I complain about you – and I would never do that, anyway.” “But you are the next King.” Mablung caressed his cheek, where a slight redness showed where he had slapped him this morning. “You are a good boy, Sharonn. Sometimes a little arrogant, but you aren’t a tyrant.

I have to think about this kiss, and that isn’t a ‘no’, but for elves, sex isn’t something you do with just anyone. It doesn’t have to be the one great love but it should mean something. In any case, I think we shouldn’t do this outside where anyone can see.” Sharonn felt uneasy. Wasn’t that just a rejection, nicely worded? But he would accept Mablung’s decision. “I’ll wait for your answer, Mablung.” Mablung kissed his cheek gently.

 

Mablung stood on the balcony and looked at the stars. The wind played with his hair and sent goose bumps down his back. It had turned cool, he should go inside. “Mablung, do you need anything before I leave?” Fialsi stood behind him in the entrance to the balcony and watched him with concern. “You are so withdrawn. Did you fight with the Prince? I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.” Mablung shook his head. “That’s not... Fialsi...”

He hesitated but he had to talk to someone or his thoughts would turn in circles endlessly. “Sharonn showed very clearly that he’s interested in me as a man and I don’t know what to do.” Mablung rubbed his temples. “You aren’t a slave, Mablung. How could he!” “No, I don’t mean that”, Mablung hurried to say. “He doesn’t want me as slave. I don’t think, sex between men should only happen with a slave – more to the contrary. But you know that.”

“Well, then...” Fialsi looked at him intently. “What do you want?” Mablung sighed. “I don’t know. It’s... complicated. I haven’t had sex that I wanted for such a long time – and I’m talking about centuries, Fialsi. There was Melkor, I lost him and then... I tried, but when I woke in the morning and thought, it was Melkor lying next to me, it was as if I had lost him again. I’m afraid that this will happen again. The pain when I lost him almost killed me and the wound still hurts, although it became easier to live without him.”

He had promised Melkor to sail, but he knew that there was little hope that the Valar would pardon him because of the words of a lovestruck elf. And what could he tell them? Melkor _was_ a villain, and his love didn’t change that. “But I do have certain desires and Sharonn is... yes, he is to my liking.” There was a part of him that wanted to dissuade him. There was the memory of the night with Thranduil, or more precisely the morning after, he had enjoyed the night. And this part of himself told him, too, that Sharonn was almost a child still.

“But he is so terribly young.” Fialsi laughed. “He is eighteen. Do you remember how you thought of yourself with eighteen? He won’t like it if you tell him he is too young.” Mablung smiled lopsidedly. “You are right.” He had been sixteen when Glorfindel had approached him and he had felt so mature then. He mustn’t charge his own age up against Sharonn’s. Melkor hadn’t done so either. ‘That was different’, his doubts said.

“The Prince wants you and you aren’t disinclined but you still love Melkor and you don’t want to betray him by having sex with another. Now that you finally made up your mind to sail west, if the King would only let you. Am I right?” Mablung nodded. Fialsi was right. “Mablung, I don’t want to talk you into anything and I don’t tell you that you have to forget Melkor. How could I? But it is common here that a man has more than one wife and slaves, too.

Why should you only be able to love one person, if it’s love we discuss here? And even if we don’t talk about love. Why should you betray Melkor if you sleep with another? You don’t stop loving him if you do, do you?” Fialsi embraced him. “I’m your friend, Malbung, and I’m your servant. I know that you sometimes cry the whole night because the pillow is damp in the morning. You shouldn’t be alone. Do you think, Melkor would want you to be?”

_... who loves you as you deserve it. Be happy._ Mablung sniffled. Melkor had wished for him to find the One and hadn’t know that he _was_ the One for Mablung. He shook his head. “Then, maybe, you should consider a night with the Prince.” ‘Relationships between elves and humans never end well.’ No, he wouldn’t let himself be dissuaded by that. These relationships hadn’t ended well because they had been intertwined with the Silmaril. He didn’t care for jewels.

He squeezed Fialsi's shoulder. “Thank you for your counsel, my friend. Do you think, the Prince is still up?” Fialsi shrugged. “It’s not so late. Sit down, I’ll paint your eyes again. What do you want to do with your hair?” Mablung laughed. “I want to lie with him, not go to a wedding. The hair stays as it is.” He wore it open so it could dry after the bath. “I’ll brush it for you.” Mablung smiled and let him do his duty.

 

Mablung had decided to go barefoot his naked soles made no sound on the tiles as he crept through the dark palace. He knew that Sharonn often kept late hours, but it was quite possible that he interfered with something. Still, it had to be now. If he waited, he would just talk himself into this being a bad idea. Sharonn lay on a couch and was massaged when Mablung came in. “Mablung.” He sat up and waved his servants away. “I hoped you would come.”

Mablung waited until they were alone before he walked over. He traced Sharonn’s cheek with his fingertips and looked him deeply in the eyes. It was right, he could feel it. Mablung leaned down and kissed his Prince. Sharonn only needed a short moment to get over his surprise and returned the kiss hungryly. Mablung straddled his lap, his skin felt oily under his fingers. “I’m not a slave”, Mablung whispered into his ear and teased his earlobe with his tongue. “I won’t take orders and I have my own wishes.”

“Of course”, Sharonn breathed, Mablung could feel his erection press against his thigh. He pressed kisses on his neck and pushed against his shoulders so he lay back. Sharonn’s fingers fumbled with the knot of his skirt – not that the fabric was much of a hindrance. Mablung moaned softly when he wrapped his fingers around him. How good it felt to be touched like this... Mablung sucked on Sharonn’s nipple and smiled when Sharonn tensed and moved his hips up.

“Not yet”, Mablung hummed, he blew over the damp skin and continued his exploration. Sharonn writhed moaning under him, but he didn’t protest. Mablung doubted that he had ever been treated like this by anyone. He reached for the carafe of massage oil, let a bit run over Sharonn’s fingers and led his hand between his legs. Sharonn stared at him wide eyed, maybe he had never done this before, his slaves were always ready for him.

“I haven’t done this for a long time.” He had a nervous weight in his stomach,  but he wouldn’t let him see that. “Take your... oh.” Mablung gasped when Sharonn’s oily fingers stretched him. Before he knew what was happening, he lay on his back and looked up at Sharonn who grinned cheekily. “Let’s turn the tables, yes?”, he said, his breath heavy.  “I’ll take my time! So much that you’ll beg for me to take you.” Mablung’s laugh turned to a moan when the Prince moved his fingers. “You’ll have a long wait then.” He knew that it sounded like a challenge – and it was supposed to be.

 

Mablung lay exhausted on the couch, he breathed quickly. He hadn’t begged – but only just. Sharonn  brushed a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead. “Your self-control is remarkable.” Mablung grinned at him but remained silent, he didn’t want to talk about the past. “Was it as you imagined it to be?”, he asked instead, Sharonn blushed. “Yes... and so much better, because it is real.” Sharonn buried his head at his neck and breathed in.

“I couldn’t have imagined how you smell. And... it’s so different from being with a slave. I couldn’t imagine that. A slave does, what he is ordered to do but you do what you want. I don’t know why I couldn’t see the difference before.” Mablung smiled indulgently. “Because it is as natural for you to have slaves as the fact that each morning the sun rises. You grew up with the knowledge that there are people who are unfree, you don’t think about it and I don’t blame you for it.”

Mablung kissed Sharonn gently but Sharonn moved back. “I’m ashamed of myself that I was jealous of a slave”, he mumbled. “I saw how happy you are with him and I envied him this closeness...” It gave Mablung a chill. He knew what jealousy could bring about. “Fialsi and I, we never were together like this. I would never do this with a slave, because he wouldn’t have a choice.” “But you look like...”

Mablung shook his head. “We are just good friends. I know how it is, to lie with someone who I don’t want, I can’t do this to anyone. Fialsi treats me like an equal most of the time, because I gained his trust over many years, but I can’t count on him saying ‘no’ if I’d show an interest in him and he wouldn’t want it. He is a slave and I’m the guest of his owner, he wouldn’t risk to refuse me.”

Sharonn looked as if he wished the ground would open and swallow him up. “I’m so sorry, the poor man!” Mablung kissed his cheek, he knew that he hadn’t been wrong about his Prince. “I’ll tell him. Maybe you can make up for it. Do you think, we could obtain his freedom of your father?” Mablung had been entertaining the idea for long, but he knew that it wasn’t easy. Born slaves were rarely freed.

“I’ll talk to him, maybe something can be done on occasion of his sixtieth birthday in a few months. You aren’t angry at me anymore?” Mablung shook his head. “Do you think, I’d be here if it were otherwise? You are a Prince, it’s normal for you to sometimes run riot. I hope, it is a lesson to you. Don’t be unjust to your subjects, regardless of how low they stand.”


	54. Chapter Fifty-Three

_3016 T.A._

_Manwe’s hands caressed the smooth skin of his lover while they kissed passionately. The light of the lamps mingled to a warm gold on the walls. “Manwe”, Melkor moaned and threw back his head, sweaty strands of hair stuck to his cheeks. “How beautiful you are, brother”, Manwe whispered gently. He loved him so much. Despite their differences, despite him being so difficult. “I love you, Melkor.”_

_..._

_Melkor sat beside him on the bed and sang with soft voice a song, that pierced Manwe’s heart. ‘Don’t abandon me’, he sang and Manwe vowed himself to never fail him, whatever his siblings said..._

Manwe sat up with a start, for a moment he didn’t know where he was. The dream had felt so real, he still had the melody of the song in his head. ‘Don’t abandon me...’ He had been so sure, that they would always be together. They were brothers – and lovers, they had never seen that as a contradiction. And still he had failed him, had bowed to the pressure of his siblings and abandoned him. Would things have been different if he had had the courage to stand beside him?

Manwe shook his head. It made him angry that he still had feelings for his brother. Hadn’t he tried to guide him to the right way? The Melkor, he had once loved, was gone. The monster, he had turned into, didn’t deserve his compassion. He hated this man! He wanted to hate him, but the hate had vanished with time. What remained... _“He is your brother!”_ Manwe took a shaky breath when he remembered Aule’s upset look. He had confronted him only yesterday.

“Have you looked at him only once since his imprisonment? Do you have an idea, what Namo is doing to him?” “No and I’m sure that Namo does, what is right.” Manwe tried to hide his guilty conscience behind indifference. “You were never a friend of Melkor’s. Why that sudden change of mind?” Aule gave him a flaming look. “It isn’t sudden. You are right, if I could have, I would have stopped you from pardoning him, but you didn’t want to listen...”

“Well, then what are you complaining about? You have, what you wanted. He’ll never leave Mandos again.” It hurt more than it should to be reminded of that. “Will you let me finish! Melkor deserves to be a prisoner and yes, maybe he deserves also to suffer, but what Namo does is too much. He is dying, Manwe, his body is more dead than alive and who knows how his mind is faring. I know that he hurt you, Manwe, but do you really want to have to answer for his death?”

Aule had no idea how much Melkor had really hurt him. How betrayed he had felt when he had to realise that his brother had lied to him all the time. Manwe hugged himself. Death. Could he really die? Melkor was weak, deprived of his power. How would it be, if one of them died? Manwe shivered. Everything that had happened after Melkor’s escape, was his fault. He had overruled his siblings, he had pardoned Melkor, out of self interest, he wouldn’t make another mistake like this, but maybe he should inspect what Namo was doing. If it made even Aule talk in favour of Melkor...

He pushed the thought aside, that he did this out of concern for Melkor. Now that he had made his decision, he didn’t want to wait. Manwe opened his window, the cool night air blew into his face and woke him completely. Without hesitation he let himself fall and turned into an eagle. Despite his dark thoughts, he felt happiness rush through him, he hadn’t flown for too long.

 

Manwe felt Namo immediately when he reached Mandos, he was everywhere. ‘What can I do for you, Manwe?’ ‘I want to see Melkor.’ ‘Do you know the way? Or do I have to...’ Manwe smiled, Namo’s reluctance to take visible shape, was clearly hearable. ‘I know the way. The key?’ ‘Hangs beside the door.’ ‘Isn’t that a little careless?’ Manwe frowned. ‘I have an eye on him, always. No one can get to him without my knowledge.’ ‘You’ll leave me alone.’ ‘Of course.’ Manwe felt Namo drawing back. He took the key from his hook and opened the door. His heart raced, he was afraid of what he would see.

 

Melkor didn’t bother to open his eyes when the door opened. Namo, Mablung, whoever it was, the pain would only get worse and if he looked at him, he would be punished. A fever fit shook his body. He whimpered feebly, it hurt so much. “Look at me.” Melkor jerked. This voice! He hadn’t expected _him_. He opened his burning eyes with an effort, he wasn’t capable of more. Manwe gripped his hair and pulled his head back. “I said: ‘Look at me.’”

Manwe wrath was obvious and the fear of it even pushed back the pain of the movement. He sobbed, Manwes wrath was almost as bad as Mablung’s hatred.  He was aware now of how much Manwe had fought for him. He hadn’t seen it then, had only felt the humiliation. When they had dragged him out of Utumno forcing him to kneel before him, he had had only hatred in his heart that had grown in the years of his imprisonment. But not anymore “Please”, Melkor whimpered trembling. “Please...” He didn’t even know what he begged for. He only wanted the pain to stop.

 

Manwe had decided to not let sympathy grow in his heart, he wanted to persuade himself that Melkor deserved this, but he failed. Melkor’s eyes shone with fever, but behind it they were dull, they screamed for salvation. Manwe’s heart clenched. Melkor had always been so proud. Where was the pride? He let go of him with trembling hands, Melkor slumped immediately and didn’t move again. His breathing made disturbing sounds. Aule was right, he was very ill.

Now, that he wasn’t held by the disconcerting view of his eyes, Manwe realised Melkor’s terrible state. His face was sunken, the lower lip bitten bloody, he was emaciated, his ribs stuck out, Manwe even saw that some of them were brocken. His back was a tangle of bloody welts in different stages of healing and scar tissue, a festering burn on his belly, dark bruises covered his whole body. He stank of sickness. Manwe felt queasy, but he didn’t allow himself to look away.

What had he done? He should have never allowed this – he shouldn’t have taken part in it! He remembered the travel from Angband to Aman with shame. He had acted horridly, had let himself get carried away by Namo’s and his own hatred. But the hatred had vanished completely now, the anger, the disappointment, all gone. Only shame was left, contempt for himself – and love. Melkor was his brother and he loved him. And how much he missed him... He sobbed. He couldn’t leave him here, no matter what consequences it would have. “I’ll save you”, he whispered and put his hand on Melkor’s burning forehead. “Sleep.” Melkor couldn’t fight his power anymore. He wouldn’t feel the pain now, at least.

 

Aule opened his eyes sleepily. “I’m sorry for waking you, herdir, but Manwe is here. He wants to talk to you immediately.” “Now?” Aule rubbed his face. “I’m coming.” The servant bowed and left. Aule stood up and dressed. If Manwe woke him in the middle of the night, it had to be something important. “What happened?” Aule rushed to were Manwe sat in a chair in his living room. He was pale and trembled, Aule saw the tears on his cheeks. “What’s wrong?” “I was in Mandos, I visited Melkor.” Manwe looked up.

“You were right, with everything. I did everything wrong. I need the keys – for the chains. I’ll take him out of there. He has to recover first and then we should think about another way of punishing him.” Aule patted his shoulder. Although it hurt him to see Manwe like this, he was glad that he finally opened his eyes. “That’s the right decision, Manwe, I’ll back you. Do you want to go right now?” Manwe nodded. “The quicker the better. He... I don’t think he has much time left.”

“I’ll come with you, you don’t have to do this alone.” Aule embraced him. “I knew that your good heart would win over your anger. Melkor deserves a lot but this torture is unworthy of us. I don’t know what Namo intends with it.” Manwe sniffed. “I don’t think that he intends much with it. Namo hates Melkor because he didn’t submit to father’s plan. In this case he is no more unbiased than me.”

 

Manwe fought against his tears when he entered Melkor’s cell for the second time that night. He felt guilty and that he would help his brother now was only small comfort after past cruelties. He took the keys from Aule and opened Melkor’s chains. His brother slumped into his arms and he lifted him gently, Melkor weighed almost nothing, he was only skin and bones. Manwe held him close. “I’m so sorry, brother”, he whispered. Why had it needed to come to this?

He was surprised that Namo didn’t argue when he took Melkor away. “How do you want to take him to Ilmaren?” Aule walked beside him. Manwe was glad that he hadn’t to do this alone, that Aule, who had always looked at Melkor with distrust, stood beside him. That way it felt less as if he would put his own feelings in front of their common decision. “I’ll fly. Will you hold him for me?”

“Of course. Do you want me to call Yavanna? She can tend to his wounds.” “Do you think, she will?” Manwe wasn’t sure if it was wise. He wanted to hide Melkor from everyone. No one should be able to hurt him again. “Yes, I think, she’ll help. I think, she’ll be appalled of how far Namo went.” “Not only Namo...” Melkor looked at the floor, he was so ashamed. Aule watched him with sympathy. “Let’s hurry.”

 

Yavanna hadn’t shown her feelings when she saw Melkor. Manwe thought, that his injuries looked even worse on the white sheets. He had let her work without saying anything, but now, as she washed her hands, he couldn’t stop himself. “How... how is he?” Manwe’s voice broke. “He is hurt badly and he has high fever, his body hasn’t much left to fight it. I won’t lead you on, Manwe, it is quite possible that he won’t make it. Maybe it would be better for him, even.” Yavanna shook his head. “How could Namo do this?”

“How can you say that!” Manwe was appalled. He couldn’t lose him! “Look at him! How do you think is he going to feel if he wakes, trapped in this crippled body. You know his desire for freedom! His back will never be completely straight again, I can’t fix it. It’s possible that it will always give him pain. And who knows what this endless torture has done with his mind.” Yavanna sighed and laid her hand on Manwe’s shoulder.

“We’ll see , Manwe. I can tell you more in a few days. There should always be someone in this room, in case he wakes. Call me as soon as something changes about his condition.” Manwe nodded. “I’ll stay with him as long as is necessary.” He took Melkor’s limp hand between his own. “I’ll go now.” Yavanna kissed his brow. “Don’t take it to heart, Manwe. It’s not your fault.” But Manwe knew, that it was. He started to cry without restraint when Yavanna had left. Aule but his warm hand on his shoulders and Manwe leaned into him, searching for comfort.

“Everything’s going to be alright”, Aule murmured and rubbed his back. “He’ll recover.” “I shouldn't have let it come to this. He is my brother!” “You did, what was best for all. You couldn’t have spared him, he deserved punishment. We just went a little too far.” “You didn’t, you tried to restrain us. Why?” Aule sighed. “Something that Mo said to me: ‘There’s only a narrow line between justice and cruelty, herdir.’ I took it to heart. I didn’t want to be cruel, I didn’t want to have to compare myself to Melkor.”

“Then you managed more than I.” Manwe couldn’t look into his eyes, Aule had broken in on him and Namo. “You were angry, Manwe, we all were.” “He was, too. I shouldn’t have sent him away. He needed me and I left him. We didn’t even try to understand him! I made the biggest mistake of my life and I don’t know, if I can ever forgive myself. If he dies...” Manwe shook his head. Aule didn’t respond. What could he have said?

“Can I leave you or do you want me to stay?”, he asked after a while. “Go home, I’ll manage.” Manwe’s smile trembled. “Call me, if you need me. Promise it.” “I promise. Thank you, Aule. For being her, and for pushing me in the right direction.” Manwe sat next to Melkor, he didn’t intend to leave him. He dipped a cloth in cool water and laid it on his glowing forehead. He stroked his hair gently. Melkor looked so fragile. His powerful, proud brother, whose will had always seemed so invincible. “I’m so sorry, brother”, Manwe whispered. “Please don’t die. Please, allow me to right my mistake.” ‘Please, father, help him. Don’t let him die. He is also your son.’

 

Mo came to Valmar for a few days and found the whole town in an uproar. He worked in the mines now, where he belonged. It had taken a long time and much persuading from Aule until the Valar had allowed him to leave Valmar, the mines were far to the south. It meant, that he had to move away from Laiglas, but he was happy there. He was a mediocre smith at best, his true calling was finding the treasures of the earth – he had needed a betrayal to understand that.

The distance prevented news reaching him in a timely manner, but it didn’t take him long to find out what stirred them all up. Mo tried to not let show how happy he was that Manwe had freed Melkor. Originally, he had wanted to just dump his things and put on clean clothes before he went to Laiglas, but he was sure that Laiglas would forgive him, if he spoke to Aule first. His Master greeted him with a nod when he entered the workshop, Mo bowed and blurted out without delaying himself with civilities: “Melkor, is he really...”

“Good afternoon, Mormirion. I figured that the news would reach you soon.” Aule watched him closely. “Then it is true? He is in Ilmaren?” Mo felt his heart beat faster. Melkor, he wasn’t in Mandos anymore! “Yes, it’s true.” Aule still looked at him with this gaze and Mo realised what he must be thinking. He knelt and bowed his head. “I’m yours, Master, please don’t doubt that.” “Rise, Mo, it’s not necessary for you to kneel.” Aule sounded gruff. “And don’t be happy too soon. Melkor is hurt badly.”

Mo felt queasy. That was to be expected, wasn’t it? He had seen, after all, what Namo had done to him. “Can I visit him?”, he asked although he knew that it would only strengthen potential doubts about his loyalty. “No.” Aule glared at him. “He is unconscious, he wouldn’t know anyway.” “But...” “No, Mormirion! Don’t object!” Mo bowed. “Of course, Master. Forgive me.” Aule was rarely so authoritative, he seemed to be under great strain. Did he really believe that Mo was able to betray him again?

Mo shook his head. He knew that it had been a mistake to leave him, but Melkor was still his friend. He only wanted to help him. It had startled him that Aule had rejected him so sharply, but he wouldn’t give up so soon. Maybe he would be more lucky with Yavanna, she tended Melkor’s wounds, it was said. Mo walked to the garden, that was the most likely place to find her. She freed a rosebush of limp leaves when he found her. Mo waited until she chose to notice him.

“What can I do for you, Mormirion?” “You tend Melkor’s wound, don’t you?” Mo looked down on his hands, a little embarrassed. Aule wouldn’t be pleased if he heard that Mo asked his wife behind his back for something  he had already forbidden, but he had to risk it. “Yes.” She smiled at him. “He isn’t in mortal danger anymore. Does this soothe you?” Mo nodded, although the words made him shiver. Mortal danger... Ainur didn’t die when their bodies were killed, was Melkor so weak that it would mean his obliteration if... He shook himself.

“Would you allow me to accompany you, when you go to him next? I’d like to see him.” “Aule forbade it”, Yavanna stated dryly. Mo blushed and looked at the floor. “Yes”, he said embarrassed, “but I need to see him. I don’t understand, why...” Yavanna touched his cheek to make him look at her. “He fears to lose you again, that you will blame him for Melkor’s state. He is very fond of you, Mo.”

“But that’s nonsense! I would never blame him for it.” Mo knew after all that Aule had done more for Melkor than any of his siblings. He hadn’t forgotten. “Melkor is my friend, I... never dared hope to see him again and now... Please, herinya.” Yavanna sighed softly. “I’ll talk to him but I can’t promise anything.” “Thank you.” Mo bowed and left her to her gardening, he knew that he couldn’t do more.

 

Melkor slowly rose from the darkness that was around him. He kept his eyes closed, as long as he acted as if he slept they wouldn’t hurt him maybe. He lay in a bed, a blanket made him feel warm – the chains were gone. The pain was less bad than usual. The touch came so unexpectedly that he opened his eyes and shrank back. Pain exploded in his back, Melkor whimpered, dark spots danced in his vision. “Please, herdir, please don’t", he whimpered, termbling violently. No more pain, please!

“You are save, Melkor, no one is going to hurt you.” Manwe reached out. Melkor buried his head in the pillow and waited trembling for the blows. Manwe sighed. “Are you hungry, Melkor?” Melkor didn’t know, what to say. He needed food to survive, albeit not as much as an elf – and that was well or he would have starved long ago. A nagging pain nested in his belly, he was so used to it that he almost didn’t notice it anymore. It would be good to eat something, but he feared he question to be a trap. Why would Manwe care if he was hungry?

“Come. I have a bowl of soup for you”, Manwe said after a while, when he didn’t answer. Melkor screamed in fear when Manwe touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Manwe pulled his hand back. “I didn’t want to frighten you. I won’t hurt you, Melkor, I’m not angry anymore. I want to help you to turn on your back so you can eat.” Manwe’s voice sounded so gentle, but Mablung had sounded like this too, in the dreams, but then... Melkor closed his eyes tightly when the tears came. No, he didn’t want to think of that now. Was this only a dream, too?

Manwe had made him sleep, when he had come to him. Maybe... Melkor nodded and looked shyly at Manwe. If it was dream, he would enjoy it and if it was not and Manwe only played with him, it didn’t matter what he did, he would hurt him anyway. The pain in his back was almost unbearable when Manwe helped him to turn around and laid his arm under his shoulder to lift him up.

It wasn’t only the pain of the welts, it was deeper, he couldn’t move. Melkor cried when the warm soup rand down his throat and filled his belly. It tasted so good. It _had_ to be a dream. “There we go.” Manwe eased him back into the pillow after the bowl was empty. “It is over, Melkor. I won’t let you get hurt again.”


	55. Chapter Fifty-Four

Melkor's nightmare woke Manwe. He wrapped himself in a dressing gown and ran the few steps to Melkor’s sickroom. He couldn’t see _what_ he dreamed, but it had to be something awful. His music was high-pitched with fear. Melkor didn’t wake when he entered the room, he screamed in his sleep and begged with slurred words for mercy. “Melkor”, Manwe said softly. “Melkor, wake up.” He laid his hand on his arm and pulled it back immediately when Melkor jerked back and opened his eyes.

He was awake now, but the fear didn’t vanish, to the contrary. His eyes were wide and he trembled, his hands clenched around the blanked. Manwe longed to embrace him, to comfort him, but he had already learned, that every touch threw Melkor into panic. “It’s alright”, he murmured. “No one is going to hurt you.” How often he had repeated this words in the hope that Melkor would someday believe them. It hurt so much to see him like this, to know that he feared him with good reason.

How could he prove to him that he meant it? What did he think? Melkor didn’t talk much. Why did he think, he was here? Yavanna had told him that he needed to be patient and he would. Manwe felt tears rise to his eyes. When he had taken him out of Mandos, he hadn’t expected that Melkor, his proud, wayward brother, could ever lose himself so completely. He was reminded of Reviahûn who hadn’t known who he was, when he returned. A falcon, who had fluttered panicked around the room.

But Reviahûn had trusted him and let him help him. Melkor was so frightend of him and he was under the impression that Melkor knew exactly, who he was – what he had done. “Were are you, Melkor?”, Manwe whispered. How could he prove to him, that he would not hurt him? He stood up slowly to not frighten Melkor and left the room. He had saved him from his dream, his presence would only make it worse.

 

Aule hammered a glowing piece of iron without really seeing what he did. The exertion kept him from thinking of the look Mo had had on his face when he had asked him to let him see Melkor. He didn’t want to treat him unjustly, but... He started when Yavanna laid a cool hand on his arm. “You should allow him to see Melkor, Aule. It is important for him and I can see how this matter unsettles you.” Aule threw the hammer on the workbench and turned to her.

“Considering his past, I don’t think it a good idea”, he answered bitterly. Yavanna shook his head. “I know that you trust him, or you wouldn’t have allowed him to leave Valmar. Why these reservations?” Aule pushed his fingers through his hair, that had gotten loose of its tie. “It’s not that. But the state Melkor is in... I don’t want him to see him like this. He’ll get angry and he’ll hate me for having taken a part in it.”

“Didn’t you tell me, that you allowed him to bring Melkor food? Haven’t you looked after him? He hasn’t forgotten, Aule, I’m sure of that. He is completely loyal to you and he knows that it was necessary to punish Melkor. He himself has never protested against his own punishment. He knows that they committed crimes. If you keep him from Melkor, he will think you unjust. And”, Yavanna hesitated for a moment,

“it could be good for Melkor if Mo visited him. He is so frightened of us, maybe a familiar face will calm him. Maybe Mo is able to reach him in a way that we can’t.” “Have you talked to Manwe about it?” Yavanna nodded. “He will try anything that sounds promising. It upsets him that Melkor won’t let him help him.” Aule sighed. “I know... very well. I’ll take Mo to Ilmaren when I see him for the next time.

 

Mo was surprised when he saw Aule stand in the courtyard. He had meant to only make a short stop-over before he returned to the mines, he had been with Laiglas for the last few days. “What can I do for you, Master.” He looked like he was waiting for him. “Do you still want to visit Melkor, Mo?” Mo nodded, not sure if his voice would obey him. The rumours he heard didn’t sound hopeful. “Then follow me.” “Really, Master?” Mo was surprised. He hadn’t dared to address the matter again.

“Yes. I’m sorry that I was so unfriendly. I know that you are loyal to me, but...” “I won’t hate you, herdir.” Mo coughed to get the lump out of his throat. “I know that he deserves his punishment.” Aule lifted his eyebrows. “Did you talk to my wife?” Mo nodded. “She said, you might think that I would blame you for his state. That won’t happen, Master.” “Yavanna thinks, it might help Melkor if he sees someone who wasn’t his enemy. He is so terribly frightened. Every attempt to touch him makes him panic.” Mo swallowed hard. He had seen before, what Aule described – from slaves.

“I understand”, he said without letting his thoughts show. “I will do for him what I can.” Manwe himself waited for them in the entry hall, he looked at Mo beseechingly. Mo bowed deeply. “Aranya, I hope, I’m not in the way.” He knew that he walked a fine line. If they came to the conclusion that he wasn’t loyal to Aule, it wouldn’t be done with house arrest this time. “No, Mormirion, you aren’t.” Manwe smiled at him. “I hope, you can reach him. I would be very glad if you could make him understand that we don’t want to hurt him.” Mo nodded and followed him up a stair.

“If you allow me a question, Aranya: What will you do with him?” Manwe turned his gaze to him. He sounded tired, Mo thought, as if he slept badly. “To be honest, I can’t think about that now while he is so unwell, but I won’t put him in Mandos again.” Mo was deeply relieved to hear that. “I’ll do, what I can.” Although he didn’t think it would be easy. This fear wasn’t something rational, nothing that could be made right with a few nice words.

Melkor lay in his bed and stared at him when he entered the room, then he lowered his gaze to the blanket. Mo tried to hide his dismay. Melkor was pale, his cheeks hollowed, a healing wound on his neck showed where the collar, that had once been his crown, had chafed. He had been here for months, how must he have looked when Manwe brought him here! Mo didn’t want to imagine it. And he sounded so scared! “Will you not look at me, aranya?” He felt the surprise of the two Valar behind him, but he didn’t care. He let go of all caution.

He wanted Melkor to hear that he was still at his side and he would understand best with this address. “How are you? Are you in pain?”Mo spoke soft and calmly, he didn’t want to frighten him. Melkor shook his head almost imperceptibly. Mo turned to Manwe and Aule. “Can I speak with him alone,  Aranya, Master? I think, that would be better.” He waited until both of them had left the room and turned to Melkor again.

“What is it that you fear so much, aranya? I served you once. I’m still your friend. Do you really think I would hurt you?” Mo sat quietly beside Melkor for a long time. Melkor had closed his eyes and Mo would have believed him to be asleep if he hadn’t felt his dread. Finally Melkor slightly opened his eyes and asked softly: “Why don’t you hate me?” It was little more than a breath, but he talked. “Why should I hate you, aranya? It was my wish to serve you and you always respected me. Allow me to be your friend, aranya. Let me help you. You’ll be alright again.”

Melkor shook his head. “Please, don’t call me that, you’ll only make them angry.” “As you wish, herdir. I only wanted to show you that I’m still yours. Not as your servant maybe, but as a friend.” “It’s no use, Mormirion. I have nothing left. I’m only here so they can torture me again when I’m well again.” Mo stared at him. “Do you really believe that? It’s not true, herdir. Manwe told me himself that he won’t put you in Mandos again. He worries for you, herdir, I can feel it.”

Melkor closed his eyes. “I lost everything, Mo. _He_ hates me.” “No, herdir. Manwe...” “No, not him. Mablung.” Mo felt tears sting his eyes. So much love, so much despair. “I don’t think so, herdir. He loved you, he surely still loves you.” “He was there!” Melkor started to cry. “He isn’t in Aman, herdir.” Mo was puzzled. “What happened?” But Melkor only cried silently. Mo didn’t even try to touch him, it would only have made things worse. He knew how much it took Melkor to even talk to him. He wished, he were able to soothe him. What was this with Mablung? He didn’t understand.

 

Eonwe waited for him when he finally left Melkor, his friend had cried himself to sleep. “Manwe wants to see you”, he said tersely and turned around. Mo followed him to Manwe’s study. “Please, take a seat”, Manwe said and rested his chin on his laced fingers. “Aranya?”, he asked with lifted eyebrows. Mo didn’t avert his eyes, although he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I only wanted to show him, that I’m his friend. I’m loyal to Aule.”

Manwe waved it aside. “I don’t doubt that. Aule trusts you and I trust Aule's judgement. But be careful who hears it. Some might think you got away too easily.” Mo shook his head. “He asked me not to call him that, anyway. He thinks, it will make you angry.” “He talked to you?” Manwe’s eyes lighted up. “Yes, Aranya, he believed me, but he is... very hurt. Does the name Mablung mean anything to you?” “Mablung of Doriath?”, Manwe asked puzzled.

Mo laughed. “No, just a coincidence. The Mablung, I mean, is a Noldo. He was Melkor’s slave, for a very long time. Melkor fell in love with him and I’m pretty sure that Mablung loved Melkor, too, but... well, there couldn’t have been a more impossible love.” Mo shook his head. “Melkor thinks, that Mablung hates him. Of what I was able to understand, he seems to think that he visited him in Mandos, but I know that he isn’t in Aman. Can you find him? What would help Melkor the most, is this elf.”

Manwe shook his head. “I can’t force him to come.” “You won’t have to if he hears that he is allowed to see Melkor.” “You seem to be very sure that he loves him.” “I am. I was there, I could see it.” Manwe contemplated his words. “Irmo would be able to find him and contact him, but... It has been such a long time, even for an elf. Why are you so sure that it wasn’t what they call slave-sickness? How can you be sure that he hasn’t built himself a new life? Maybe he has a family. Would it be just to force such a decision on him?”

Mo opened his mouth to respond that Mablung would only ever love Melkor, but he started to be in doubt. Yes, he had seen Mablung’s love and he was reasonably sure that it hadn’t been slave-sickness, but... Manwe was right. If Mablung had been in Aman, it would have been easy. Either he’d stand at Ilmaren’s gates by now or he wouldn’t be interested in Melkor, but he wasn’t here. To tear him from his life would be wrong. Still... he would have done it for Melkor, if he could. “You are right, of course, Aranya.” Mo hung his head. “We’ll have to manage without him.”

 

Mo realised quickly that it was hopeless. Melkor didn’t trust Manwe and he had lost his will to live. He didn’t see a reason to fight, he had no strength to fight. Whatever happened to him in Mandos, the Vala, Mo had once known, was gone. Manwe intercepted him when he left after one of his visits. “No success, again?” Mo shook his head and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “He has lost all hope. He is certain that it is only a matter of time until you hurt him again. Nothing can convince him of the contrary.” He was almost persuaded that it was best to just let Melkor be.

“I’ll take him away.” “What?” Mo stared at him. “To Mandos?” How heartless could he be? That was exactly, what Melkor expected! “No, of course not!” Manwe lifted his hands soothingly. “I’ll take him to Arda. Maybe he’ll recover better there.” “Why should he?” Mo didn’t understand anything anymore. “The elves hate him! They will hurt him!” “Not, if I order them to care for him. I’ll take him to Elrond, to Imladris. They are Noldor, but they will obey me. Melkor will be forced to recover there. Elrond is a healer, he won’t allow him to stay in bed forever.”

“But we have good healers, too. Why...” “I can’t see him like this anymore.” Manwe looked desperate. “It tears my heart in two. I want him to be helped – just not here.” Mo stayed silent, but he boiled with anger. What Manwe was doing, was craven. On the other hand... everyone in Middle-Earth would soon know that Melkor was in Imladris, he didn’t delude himself to think that you could keep this a secret for long and if Mablung heard of it... Mo smiled. Maybe it was really the better option.

 

~*~*~ 

 

Glorfindel froze when he recognised the person who came through the gate. He was the last one he would have anticipated to see. He changed his course and greeted Manwe. “What leads you here, Aran Einior?”, he asked with a deep bow. “I want to see Elrond. And I would be pleased if no one else knows that I’m here.” Manwe’s gaze was serious. “Of course, Aranya. Please, follow me.” What could he want here? It had to be something important, if he abandoned their self-imposed restraint.

Glorfindel glanced at the unconscious man, Manwe carried. “Did you find here, what you searched, Glorfindel?”, Manwe asked. “Yes, Aranya.” He hadn’t been able to protect Turgon and his son was now a star in the sky. The least he could do, was to protect the grandchild of his friend. That was, what he had thought, when he begged to be allowed to accompany the Istari to Arda.

“This is my home.” He felt more at home here than in Aman, where everything reminded him that he was no longer the Laurefinde, that he had been ere he had stained his hands with the blood of his kin and crossed the ice. “I’m happy for you.” Manwe smiled at him and Glorfindel had a feeling that it wasn’t only an empty phrase.

 

Elrond stood at the window and enjoyed the warm weather, it was too fair outside to work, he would attend to the papers on his desk another time, there was nothing that afforded his immediate notice. Maybe he would go for a ride... He sighed when it knocked, it seemed as if his plans were thrown over. “Come in.” Elrond sat behind his desk and rose again when he recognised the man that entered the room with Glorfindel. He would never forget the day, when they had been given the choice, the day he had lost Elros.

“Welcome, Aran Einior”, he said and tried for a calm tone of voice. His gaze wandered to the man in Manwe’s arms. He slept, a broad scar could be seen on his neck. “To what do I owe the honour of your visit? Please, take a seat.” Manwe remained standing. “I won’t stay long. It is a request, not an order, refuse if you think, you aren’t up to it. I ask you to help my brother.” Manwe’s face became gentle when he looked at the unconscious man in his arms. “Your... brother?” “Yes. Melkor.”

Elrond looked at Glorfindel for help, his friend looked as pale as he felt. He saw him clench his fists, trembling with anger. “Leave us, Glorfindel”, he said, before his friend could do something foolish. Glorfindel obeyed reluctantly. “Why?”, he asked Manwe when they were alone. “He was more dead than alive when I took him from Mandos, his back is crippled. Morgoth is gone, Elrond, I’m not even sure if there is enough of Melkor left. Believe me, he paid dearly for what he did. The torture broke him, he lost his will to live. I know that you tended people like him after Angband fell. Please, help him.”

‘I couldn’t help Celebrian”, Elrond thought with bitterness. He understood that Manwe tried everything to save his brother – he would have done the same for Elros. “You believe that he is no longer a threat?” “Yes. I wouldn’t have taken him here, if he were still dangerous. He lost his power, he can’t even change his body. No, he is no threat.” Elrond sighed heavily. “Come with me, Aranya. He needs a bed.”

 

Meldor spread a balm on the boy’s skinned knee. “Look were you run, next time. Off with you!” He slapped his backside lightly and followed him with his eyes smiling. His face became serious when Elrond came in with an elf who carried another. “What happened?”, he asked alarmed. It looked bad, although he couldn’t see any blood. “Do we have a bed ready?” “Of course, come with me.” Meldor led them to the next room and pointed to an empty bed. “Lay him down there.” The foreigner gently put his burden down.

“Thank you”, he said to Elrond and turned to Meldor’s dismay to thin air. “What was that?”, he gasped. “That, my friend, was Manwe”, Elrond answered with an thin smile. “And this is Melkor. Let’s examine him.” Meldor gulped and eyed the unconscious Vala warily. “Why has he brought him here? I’m sure they have capable healers in Valinor.” Elrond shrugged. ”Who can understand the thoughts of a Vala? But we will tend him as if he were a normal patient. You won’t show him, what you think of him, do you understand?” Elrond gave him a stern look.

“Of course. I swore an oath to help everyone who needs my help, I don’t intend to break it.” Meldor gasped when they undressed Melkor and his many scars appeared. “He paid”, he said softly. “You can see that clearly.” He had rarely seen such bad scars and his back seemed to be distorted. Meldor traced the protruding vertebrae, Melkor was very thin. “He has to be in terrible pain.” _„…and his head was bowed upon his knees“,_ Elrond quoted. „If he stayed like this for six thousand years, I’m not surprised that his back looks like this.“

What hatred Meldor had felt for Melkor vanished and was replaced by compassion. It wasn’t important anymore who he was, he was a patient and he would heal him if he could. “Manwe said, that his soul took harm. We have to be gentle.” Meldor nodded, Elrond and him knew each other for a very long time. They had met in a hospital tent in the host of the Valar. They knew both what torture could do to a soul. Still, it was important, too, to heal the body. He would conceive something to brace his back, so he would be able to walk...

Meldor became aware that Melkor had opened his eyes, they were dark with fear. He trembled. “Nice to see you awake, Melkor”, Elrond said with calm voice. “I’m Elrond of Imladris. Meldor and I will take care of you, we are healers. How do you feel?” Melkor clutched the blanket with both hands, the trembling became stronger. “You don’t have to answer”, Elrond continued. “You have been tortured, we know that you are hurt. We don’t want vengeance, Melkor.” Meldor poured a cold herbal decoction into a mug. “This will ease your pain. It tastes not very good, but it helps.”

Slowly he slid his arm under Melkor’s shoulder and helped him drink. Melkor was tense, as if he expected pain. “We won’t hurt you”, Meldor said softly, although he knew that it wouldn’t help much. Meldor saw Elrond turning away and leave. The situation had to remind him of Celebrían. The fate of his wife had been a terrible tragedy, they had all grieved. Meldor helped Melkor to lie down again and tucked him in properly. “We’ll make you whole again”, he said softly.

 

“You said ‘yes’?”, Glorfindel asked at dinner, his face startled. “Should I have refused Manwe?” Elrond shook his head. “Of course not, but...” Glorfindel tore his hair. “As if we haven’t enough problems with Sauron. What do you think he’ll do, if he hears that Melkor is here?” “He won’t hear of it, how should he?” Elrond sipped his wine. “Melkor is... you won’t believe me, but I pity him.” “Well, I don’t.” Glorfindel would never forget what Morgoth had done to his people – what he had done to Mablung. Where could the boy be? He had searched for him, but he hadn’t found him.

“We’ll help him.” “And how do you want to explain this to _them_?” Glorfindel nodded in the general direction of the other elves who sat in the dining hall. “They have a right to know it, Elrond.” His friend shook his head. “No, we won’t tell anyone. I promised Manwe that he’ll be safe here, I don’t want to take the risk of an angry elf sneaking into the hospital. He needs to regain his strength, and after... we’ll see.” Glorfindel shook his head. “As you wish. I’ll keep my mouth shut, but I don’t like it, nothing of it.”

Elrond put his hand on his arm. “I know, Glorfindel. Do you think, _I_ am happy to have him here? But Manwe entrusted me with him, for whatever reasons, he is a patient and I will treat him accordingly.” Glorfindel picked at his food, he wasn’t hungry anymore. He would keep his mouth shut, for Elrond’s sake, but he wouldn’t forget that it was Morgoth, who lay in their hospital. Could Manwe be so foolish to fall for feigned remorse again? He hoped not. But did that mean by implication, that Morgoth truly wasn’t a threat anymore? Glorfindel didn’t want to count on it. A lot of time would have to pass before he trusted him – and before he forgave him even more.

 

Melkor watched the healer under half-closed lids. He had opened a window to let in fresh air and now plucked the leaves from a plant while whistling softly. Melkor twitched at an especially jarring note, this elf hadn’t a single musical bone in his body. He came each day and sat a few hours with him, Melkor mostly acted as if he were asleep, because it was the easiest way to avoid him. As long as he wasn’t responsive, no one would demand anything of him.

He didn’t understand, why Manwe had brought him here. He had thought, Manwe wanted to take revenge himself, but that wasn’t the case, as it seemed. Had he taken him here so the elves could torment him? Elrond was somehow related to Fingolfin, he was sure, the whole family resembled each other. “I know, that you are awake.” Melkor froze. Meldor looked out of the window, as if he spoke to someone else. “I know, that you watch me, that isn’t bad. If you are ready to talk to me someday, please don’t shy away from it. I want to help you, Melkor. I’m not your enemy.”

Melkor gulped. Was he so easily figured out? He felt himself tremble, but when Meldor just continued to pluck his leaves, he relaxed after a while. He was aware that it couldn’t remain like this, he still believed sometimes that this was only a very long dream, but maybe he should at least enjoy the time while he wasn’t in pain – apart from his back, of course. Melkor moaned when he turned on his side. If he had to lie a moment longer on his back, he would go mad. He felt so stiff, as if his spine were made of wood, very sensitive wood that punished every movement with stabbing pain.

“Do you think, you can stand up?” Meldor peered at him. “It’s only a few steps to the bathroom and I believe, hot water would do your back some good.” Melkor nodded hesitantly and the elf beamed at him as if he had made him the best present of his life. “I’ll go and heat the water. It’ll take a moment.” Melkor closed his eyes, he heard Meldor bang about in the next room and thought for a moment that he had heard the music of fire, but it was gone immediately.

The Music was gone, once and for all, and that was for him as if he were deaf and blind at the same time. He couldn’t discern, what Meldor really thought. He couldn’t see, what hid behind his kind words. How was he to know what they felt, if he couldn’t hear them? He dozed off, he still slept a lot, while Meldor heated the water. “It’s ready”, Meldor finally said to him. “Can you stand? I’ll lead you to the bath.”

Melkor rolled out of bed and accepted Meldor’s help out of necessity, although his touch drove the fear even deeper into his heart, but he couldn’t walk alone. He couldn’t even stand alone, bowed over because of his crippled back. Besides, he knew what _he_ would have done to a slave who dared to flinch away from him. He was lucky that Meldor was such a gentle person. Steam caressed his skin when they entered the bathroom, it smelled of herbs.

A tub was recessed into the floor, it was filled with steaming water. The elf helped him in and put a bell on the border. “If you need me, just ring.  I’m next door.” Melkor let his head rest against the border of the tub when he was alone and felt his tense muscles relax. The elf was right, his backache became less acute, he could even sit more upright after a while. Melkor closed his eyes and tried to not think about what was coming for him. He allowed himself, for a short moment only, to hope that it was truly over.

 

Meldor spent a lot of his time in Melkor's room and did his work there when he hadn’t another patient and Melkor noticed that he became more calm in his presence. He no longer started at every motion, although the fear that it couldn’t stay like this, gnawed on him. He was much stronger than three weeks ago, when Manwe had brought him here, the last welts had healed and the burn on his belly looked much better, too. If it weren’t for his back, he wouldn’t have to stay in bed, but as things were he could barely stand up, let alone walk.

“You have to be bored, now that you are better. I can bring you something to read, if you want. What would you like?” Meldor looked expectantly at him. Melkor hesitated for a long moment. All this kindness... he didn’t understand. What did he intend with it? “I like poetry”, he finally answered softly. His voice was rough, he only spoke what was necessary. Even now he felt his heart beating faster in the expectation that Meldor would show him, what he really thought of him. Meldor smiled at him, he always looked so happy when he answered. He didn’t understand, why the elf sympathized with him, but... it felt nice. No, he mustn’t hope, he mustn’t! “Poetry, then. I’ll select something for you.”

 

Meldor had kept his word and brought him several volumes of poetry. It caused Melkor a little difficulty to read the script, it had changed. Only now he realised that he had no idea, how much time had gone by since Angband fell. It hadn’t been important until now – it still shouldn’t be important – but he wanted to know how long he had been imprisoned. Meldor sat at a table and ground an intense smelling herb with a mortar. Melkor licked his lips. Could he... He opened his mouth but hot panic shot through him at the thought of addressing him.

No, no, he mustn’t! _If you talk once more without permission, I’ll cut your tongue out._ He had Namo’s voice in his ear. Melkor closed his eyes tightly, his hands cramped around the blanket. He winced, when Meldor spoke to him and opened his eyes again. “What’s wrong, Melkor?” He must have noticed that he didn’t feel well. “Did I do something that frightened you?” Melkor shook his head. No, it wasn’t Meldor’s fault, not this time. “Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it makes it easier.”

He shook his head again. Impossible. He barely managed to get out a whole sentence. Meldor looked sad, but he didn’t say anything more and turned back to his work. After a while, Melkor started to hum softly, almost unhearable. He couldn’t talk about it, he had no instrument and his music was lost, forever, but he still had his voice. He didn’t even sing properly, it was pathetic, but to express his fear this way made it easier to bear somehow. He was glad that Meldor had given him that idea. Maybe... just maybe.

 

Meldor thought at first that he had misheard, the faint humming was almost inaudible over the scraping of his mortar and he couldn’t stop to listen and risk Melkor noticing that he could hear him. Meldor was surprised, but then he realised what he was hearing. Tears came to his eyes. So much pain... He couldn’t talk about it, but he could sing about it. Maybe that wasn’t surprising, he was a Vala. Was that the key? Could he prove to him that he didn’t want him evil this way?

The thought to sing for a Vala was absurd. He had learned to sing, like every elf, but he wasn’t a composer and he knew that he had no talent for singing. But... Meldor liked his lips and hummed the melody of a lullaby. It was the first thing that came to his mind and it was supposed to soothe. Meldor eyed Melkor and saw that he stared at him, when he saw him look, he bowed his head but a small smile was on his lips. It was the first time that Meldor saw him smile. They would make right again, what the Valar had destroyed.

Meldor wondered, if this was a good opportunity. He already delayed this suggestion, because he knew how Melkor would react, but he seemed to be relaxed for the moment. “I want to help you, Melkor.” His shoulders tensed, Meldor wished he could hum and talk at the same time, but he couldn’t and so he continued: “Your back would hurt less if I massaged it to loosen the tension in your muscles. It will get better, I promise, but at first it will hurt and of course you would have to allow me to touch you. I know that isn’t easy for you.”

He continued to hum the lullaby. When he already thought, he wouldn’t receive an answer, Melkor whispered finally: “Thank you.” His eyes shone. “That feels so good... Let’s try it.” Meldor stood up slowly and came to his side. He helped him out of his nightshirt and to roll onto his belly. Meldor gently caressed the protruding vertebrae. His massage wouldn’t change the position of the bones but he could at least ease the cramped muscles. Meldor fetched oil from the medicine cabinet and started to hum another song.


	56. Chapter Fifty-Five

The sun set behind the trees and left shadows behind. Melkor opened his eyes, he sat in the garden behind the hospital and had enjoyed the sun. He fished for his cane with one hand, he couldn’t walk without it, although he wore a brace that stabilised him. At first it had hurt even more to wear it but Meldor’s massages and the brace helped. The pain was still considerable, but he could walk alone and he knew that he had endured far worse.

It felt good, to sit here and feel the sun on his face. He would have never thought that it could make him so happy to feel Anar’s warmth. Melkor swore when the cane slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor. He gritted his teeth, it had to work without, he couldn’t bend down. He pulled himself up on the bench and took a wary step with spread arms. He swayed a little, but he could keep his balance. The cane helped to take weight from his back, but he could do without it...

Melkor yelped when he stumbled over a protruding cobblestone and fell hard on his knees, he hadn’t been able to catch himself. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t, he was too immobile and too weak. His skinned knees burned. Fast steps announced Meldor. “What happened? Come, I’ll help you...” “Don’t touch me!”, Melkor snapped at him. “You know nothing!”

Anger for himself overwhelmed him, for his weakness, for his inability to do anything by himself. He was a cripple, caught forever in this body and deaf. Then he realised what he had just done and his anger drowned in fear. “Forgive me, herdir”, he whispered and pressed his forehead to the rough cobbles. “That was disrespectful.” “Nonsense.” Meldor took his arm and pulled him to his feet. “I’m not angry. Come inside. What did you do with your cane?

Melkor leaned heavy on him as they slowly walked back. “It slipped out of my hand and I couldn’t bend down.” “Why didn’t you call me?” Meldor had developed a remarkable knack for letting his words sound link a song and although he couldn’t stay in tune, it took Melkor’s fear away. “I wanted to manage myself.” Melkor looked down at his skinned palm.

“But that went thoroughly wrong.” He heard the bitterness in his voice. Meldor patted his arm. “You have to give your body time to heal. Have patience and don’t rush it.” Meldor helped him out of the brace, tended to his scrapes and helped him to lie down. Melkor was relieved when he was in bed again, it was easier to lie here than to have to fight for every step.

 

“What do you mean by you don’t want to get up?” Meldor couldn’t believe what he heard. He was surprised that Melkor so openly counteracted him but then he saw him trembling, he was afraid of the consequences. “If you don’t move, your back will get worse again”, he said gently. Melkor shook his head. “It’s no use! I’m stuck in this body. Can you even imagine what that means for me? I’m... I lost everything.” Melkor sobbed and buried his head in his pillow.

Meldor laid his hand on his head, but that didn’t help and today even his humming was of no use. After a while he withdrew. _I lost everything._ He knew someone, who too had thought that his life was at an end. _I’m a warrior, I will never be able to fight again._ Nirmo had been so despaired when he had told him that he couldn’t straighten his legs. Meldor had told to him about Melkor. Would he talk to him? Could he show him that there was always a light?

Meldor laid the bandage, he had played with, back on its stack. He had to wait a little, at this time Nirmo would reach the top of the peak. Every day he climbed the three hundred steps, that had earned him the epesse Nirmo. Meldor was proud of him. He busied himself with cleaning up before he walked home. Nirmo was washing the sweat from his skin when he came in. He looked at him surprised. “What are you doing here, Meldor?”

“I want to ask your help.” Meldor watched him dressing, he knew better than to offer him help. Nirmo hated it when he was not able to do something himself. “I told you about Melkor. He has reached a point where he thinks his life not worth living.” Nirmo huffed and clamped his crutch under his armpit. “You want me to tell him, what happened to me? You can get that.”

Meldor laid a hand on his arm. “Be gentle, he has been hurt badly.” “And he more than deserved it. I do this for you, because I know how much you care for your patients, not for him.” Nirmo kissed him and Meldor smiled wryly. Nirmo had been his patient before they had become a couple. “Let’s go and teach a Vala that you don’t have to be almighty to conquer yourself.”

 

Melkor heard that Meldor talked to someone in the next room and froze when the voices came closer. It wasn’t Elrond, who came now and then to examine him, he would have recognised his voice. Who was Meldor bringing along? Until now he had kept all other elves away and Melkor was glad for it. “I brought you someone.” Meldor opened the door for an elf, who followed on two crutches. Melkor tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. The elf’s legs were crooked and twisted.

“That’s Nirmo, I want you to talk a little with him. I’m just next door, if you need me.” Melkor watched Meldor leave frozen in shock. He left him with a stranger! The elf scrutinised him with steel-grey eyes. “So you are Melkor. Meldor worries for you.” He pulled a chair to the side of his bed and sat down. “Not very pretty, I know.” He had caught him staring, Melkor averted his eyes.

“I was a soldier before I was taken captive by orcs and brought to their caves. I tried to run but they caught me again. After that, they broke my legs so I couldn’t try another time. After the Battle of Five Armies I was freed, but it was much too late for my legs, the bones had healed crookedly. I’m lucky that I can walk at all.” Nirmo looked hard at him.

“As you can imagine, I don’t have very kind feelings towards you, but Meldor cares for all of his patients and for his sake I want to tell you something: I know how you feel, I was a warrior and was shocked that I would never be able to fight again. Now I teach tactics and I have learned to shoot with a bow while balancing on one crutch. A injury can be the end of the word, but only if you allow it.

I climb to an observation platform over the valley each day, it’s three hundred steps and it is a fight every day. I do this to prove to myself that I can do it. That’s why they call me Nirmo, my will is stronger than my crippled legs, and if only a fraction of what the stories say about you is true, than yours is too.”

“Why should I fight? I don’t even know, why I’m here. It’s only a matter of time, till I’m back in Mandos. It’s no use.” Nirmo cocked his head. “Has it never come to your mind, that Manwe brought you here so you can start anew? Can’t it be that they think you served your sentence?” Melkor laughed sourly. “Do _you_ believe that? Would any elf ever think so? No, I don’t know what my siblings mean with this, but it’s not that.”

“Meldor thinks it is.” Nirmo leaned over and looked sternly at him, Melkor couldn’t look away. “Is there nothing – no one – you think it worth to fight for?” Melkor shook his head. ‘I’m alone.’ The memory of Mablung cut his soul. “Then at least try for Meldor. He is doing so much for you and he suffers when you are unwell. You owe it to him to not give up.” Melkor gulped. Could it really be that Meldor cared for him?

He thought of his attempts to sing for him. Why should he have made such an effort  with something he obviously had little talent for, if not to help him? Bu why should any of these elves like him? He was Morgoth! Could he ever make up for what he had done? If compensation meant for Meldor, that he tried to walk, then he would do it. Melkor nodded slowly. “Good.” Nirmo stood slowly. “I expect to hear from now on only happy reports of your recovery from him.”

 

“What year do we have, Meldor?” Meldor turned around surprised. He had let Melkor be, after Nirmo had left, he wanted him to think about his words. It was evening now and Meldor wanted to let a bit of fresh air into the room, if he couldn’t bring Melkor to go outside. “3017 – of the Third Age. The War of Wrath has been very long ago, even for an elf. We thought, evil was gone forever but it was not so.” Meldor bit his tongue when he saw the look on Melkor’s face. “Sorry.” To call him _evil_ was not very tactful.

Melkor shook his head. “It’s the truth. I hated you.” Meldor would have liked to ask, if he still did, but he had a feeling that it would shut Melkor up. He started to hum instead. “What happened after the War?” “Many of us, who didn’t want to leave Arda just then, went east – Beleriand sank under the sea, the war destroyed it – over the Ered Lindon and here we live still. For a time it really looked as if we could live in peace, but...

Sauron wasn’t caught and he built a fortress in the southeast, the orcs multiplied again. We fought him again and again over the centuries, but we could never defeat him completely.” Meldor fell silent. He couldn’t tell him how close Sauron was to winning. He was still Morgoth and he’d do well to not trust him completely – but that became harder every day.

 

Glorfindel wrapped himself tightly in his blanket to banish the coldness of the dream. He had this dream more often again, where he stumbled through a snowstorm and called for his lost lover. It was Morgoth’s fault! He thought too much about it. He didn’t remember who had told him that Mablung had been Morgoth’s slave, but the thought of what the boy had had to bear, made him sick. He should have looked after him more carefully, that he had lost him was unforgivable.

Glorfindel hated Morgoth all the more because he knew that he could have prevented Mablung’s suffering if he had taken more care. Morgoth had abused him, Glorfindel had seen slaves from Angband, to think that Mablung was broken like this... and even worse was, that he didn’t know what had happened to him after.

He hadn’t found him in Aman, he wasn’t in Mandos, he had to be somewhere on Arda, but no one he had asked had been able to tell him, where he lived. Glorfindel curled his fists, his nails bit into his palms. And now _he_ was here, this monster hat had made him suffer so much. He had taken Mablung away from him, he had taken his home away twice over and now he stole the peace in his second life.

 

Melkor froze when a stranger walked into his room. Meldor wasn’t here right now and although he was deaf he could see the resentment, the stranger felt, clearly in his face. “Where is Mablung? What did you do to him, you monster?” Melkor shrank back when the elf leaned down and looked into his eyes. The fear overcame him, he couldn’t speak. The memory was back, the hope when he had seen Mablung, in person after all these wonderful dreams – and how his hope had turned to horror, the pain when he had laid the torch on his belly so he would look at him...

“What? Did you swallow your tongue?”, the elf snapped at him. Melkor tried desperately to calm enough to answer him, he would only make him more angry, if he stayed silent, but Meldor saved him. “What are you doing here, Glorfindel?”, he asked with anger in his voice. “You have no business here.” “Morgoth has...” “I know what he did!”, Meldor interrupted him. “But you have no right to threaten him.” Glorfindel laughed roughly. “You sound as if _he_ were the victim.”

“Go.” Meldor pointed at the door. “He is my patient, he is under my protection.” Melkor closed his eyes when Glorfindel left without another word. “What did he want?” Meldor sat down beside him. Melkor shook his head, he couldn’t talk now. He understood now, why Glorfindel had asked about Mablung of all people. He hadn’t forgotten, who his slave had called for in his fever. Melkor again sought refuge in the only thing that had remained of the Music, to hum calmed him a little, but the pain in his heart stayed. Mablung, oh Mablung...

Meldor silently walked from the room, Melkor was surprised that he left him, he was almost sorry, the closeness of the elf helped him. He came back, after a while, a few leaves of parchment and a pencil in his hands that he put in Melkor’s lap. There were lines on the paper – music paper. “Maybe this will help?” Melkor gulped and gave him a grateful look. His hand trembled when he wrote down the first notes, he longed to play.

 

Melkor woke, because the sun tickled his nose, he heard paper rustling. When he opened his eyes, he saw Meldor picking up the sheets of music, that lay scattered around him, and making a neat stack out of them. He smiled at him when he saw that he was awake. “Are you feeling better again?” Melkor nodded, it had helped. “What instrument do you play anyway?” “Piano”, he answered softly and closed his eyes tightly, his whole being hurt with need.

“You’d like to play, wouldn’t you?” Meldor sounded so sympathetic... could it really be that he didn’t know? Melkor shook his head. “I’m sure, my brother told Elrond to not let me near an instrument.” He rubbed his hands to chase away the tingling that he felt at the thought of playing. He mustn’t hope. “But why?” Meldor looked confused. "Have you forgotten, who I am? What I am?” Melkor curled up and tried to fend off despair. “I’m almost powerless now, but with an instrument I might be able to do a lot of damage.”

He didn’t want to remind him, but Elrond would anyway, if he asked him. Meldor stroked his hair. “You could... but you wouldn’t, would you?” Melkor tensed, awaiting the fear following the touch, but... it didn’t feel bad. “Never”, he answered softly. “I... know now that my way was wrong and... I appreciate, what you do for me, I won’t misuse your kindness. Why don’t you hate me?” He was surprised himself that the words left his lips, but now they were out.

Meldor smiled gently. “It is easy to hate someone you don’t know. I know how hurt you are, you are my patient and I want you to feel better. What you did was awful and it continues to have an effect, but... I can’t hate you anymore. You aren’t as I thought you would be. I’ll talk to Elrond. Maybe he’ll allow you to use the piano in the music room.” Melkor shook his head. “You are already doing so much for me. Don’t get into trouble because of me.”

“It would help you. Elrond will understand that it serves your recovery.” He winked at him. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.” Melkor nodded and was surprised that he _was_ worried. He had hated them, the elves, because they were the cause why his siblings had started to fight him – or so he had thought. He hadn’t surrendered for the elves – he had done it for Mablung and because even the Silmaril meant nothing to him after his beloved was gone. Now... he hadn’t dared to think about it, he had been much too frightened, but Meldor... meant something to him. Dare he call him a friend?

 

“You should keep an eye on Glorfindel.” Meldor hated it to denounce someone, especially if it was someone like Glorfindel, a hero for them all, but he couldn’t overlook how he had acted. “Yesterday I found him with Melkor. I think, he waited until I left so he could be alone with him and threatened him. Melkor is recovering, but if something like this is going to happen more often, it will destroy everything we have achieved until now.”

Elrond nodded, his face serious. “He already told me that you threw him out, that you think of Melkor as a victim.” Meldor glared at Elrond. “Elrond, I was there, as were you, when the freed prisoners were brought out of Angband and back then I hated him, but now he _is_ a victim. He may have deserved his punishment, but that doesn’t mean it is right to abandon him with the consequences. Manwe seems to think that he deserves another chance.” Elrond nodded slowly. “I know, but... he is Morgoth. You would do well not to forget that.”

“I won’t forget it.” Meldor looked away. “But that doesn’t change my feelings. He suffered and I feel pity for him, if he deserves it or not.” Meldor stayed silent for a while. He wasn’t sure if it was the right moment, but he had seen the longing in Melkor’s eyes. “I believe, it would help him, if he could play. I could bring him to the music room...” Elrond stared so appalled at him that Meldor didn’t finish the sentence.

“Have you taken leave of your senses? He is a Vala! Manwe might believe that he isn’t a threat now, but I won’t depend on it. That’s out of the question, it doesn’t matter if it would help him.” Meldor nodded, he felt downcast. Melkor had been right. He didn’t mention, that he hummed, he somehow had the impression that that would upset Elrond even more. Would he think that Melkor had ensorcelled him to like him? Had he? Meldor shook his head. Nonsense, he had felt pity for him before he had even opened his eyes. “As you wish.” He already thought about a way how he could sit Melkor behind a piano anyway.

 

Melkor awoke with a start and winced when he felt a touch on his arm. “No”, he whimpered. “Please!” The hand vanished. “I’m sorry”, Meldor murmured. “I didn’t want to scare you.” Melkor had screwed his eyes shut, but Meldor’s almost unhearable humming calmed him enough to relax. It was the middle of the night, he didn’t understand why Meldor had woken him, but... Melkor shook his head, before the thought could assume a form. “Come, dress.”

Meldor helped him into his brace and clothes and lead him quietly from the room. Melkor wondered where they went, but he didn’t dare to ask, the shock from earlier was too close. He gasped when Meldor opened a door and closed it fast behind him. The light of his lamp fell on the varnish of the instruments. Melkor walked into the room and swept his fingers over the closed lid of a grand piano. “It belonged to Celebrían”, Meldor said softly. “It’s here as a memento of her, Elrond plays it sometimes.”

He pointed to a piano that stood on a wall. “If you like, you can use that one.” Melkor didn’t know, what had happened to Elrond’s wife, just that she wasn’t here anymore, dead most likely. “Is that permitted?”, he asked and turned to Meldor. He longed to play, but there was a reason why Meldor had brought him here at night. “I want to give you the opportunity. Elrond thinks... you would want to hurt us, but I trust you.” Melkor gulped. _I trust you._ “You shouldn’t.” He looked at his feet. “You’re getting yourself into trouble.”

“It’s worth it. Come.” Only when he held them out to him, did Melkor see that Meldor had brought the sheets he had filled with music. “Not this”, he said. It was full of pain and... he wasn’t sure what something that he had written, could cause. He couldn’t hear it, he couldn’t control it. Melkor limped to the shelf with music books and took one of them at random. He didn’t know the name of the composer, nor the title. Good, that meant he didn’t connect something with it. Maybe he should have protested more.

He _knew_ that this would get Meldor in trouble, if someone caught them – and what they would do to him, he didn’t dare to think – but his whole self ached with longing. He _needed_ to play. Melkor started slowly with a few scales, to familiarise his fingers to the feeling. He was glad that Namo had never broken his fingers. After a while he let the exercise flow into the song. Melkor closed his eyes. It felt so good, as if he where whole again.

Although he couldn’t hear it, he felt that he was one with the Music, that was Ea, at this moment. It already dawned when he finally ended. Meldor stood beside him, his eyes wide and his cheeks wet with tears, only now did Melkor notice that he cried, too. “Thank you”, he whispered with raw voice. How could he ever repay the elf for his kindness? “That was so beautiful”, Meldor answered. “I... I’ve never heard anyone play like this.”

Melkor smiled at him and didn’t say what was in his mind. He was filled with peace, completely relaxed, his back ached only slightly although he had sat so long without backrest. “Let’s go back”, Meldor said and wiped his eyes. “Before the first people wake.” Melkor fell asleep almost at the moment his head touched the pillow and for this time no nightmares waited for him.


	57. Chapter Fifty-Six

It was cold outside, but Glorfindel couldn’t bear to be inside, where the walls of his room seemed to crush him. It was one thing that Morgoth was here, he had been able to ignore him while he lay in the hospital, but now that he recovered his strength, he seemed to be everywhere. All of Imladris seemed to talk about the mysterious elf, of whom no one knew where he had come from.

Glorfindel couldn’t believe that Elrond could lie to his people like this! But Elrond was convinced that it was better this way. Only he, Meldor and Glorfindel knew that he was Morgoth, for all others he was Fearetho - a soul saved. Meldor had come up with the name, Glorfindel shook his head. The healer had completely fallen for Morgoth, but Elrond didn’t want to see it. They had put him in the kitchen, whatever they intended with that. Everyone pitied this quiet, timid elf. If only they knew...

“Has someone, who did something wrong and was punished for it, not deserved pity?”, a quiet voice asked and Glorfindel whirled around. “Mithrandir.” He bowed. “I didn’t know that you are here.” “I only arrived an hour ago and I can’t stay for long. You seem to be agitated. Does it aggrieve you so much, that Melkor is here?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Glorfindel was one of the few elves who knew, who Mithrandir really was, he had travelled with him from Aman. “He took everything away from me, that I ever cared for. My home – twice over –, Finwe, Turgon, my young lover. How could I ever forgive him?”

“Pity isn’t forgiveness, although it can be a way to it. Meldor walked this way to the end, but no one asks that of you. He deserves your pity, Glorfindel, he paid – he still pays for his worst deed, in a way you can’t imagine. Imagine being blind and deaf at the same time and you only scratch at the surface of what it means for an Ainu to not be able to hear the Music. Don’t let hate eat you up. Do I really have to tell you, where revenge leads?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “No, of course not.” He lifted his head and searched for Earendil’s star, the light of the Silmaril, carried by the boy he had sacrificed his life for. “But... don’t you wonder what Manwe intended when he brought him here?” Mithrandir smiled softly. “I trust my Master to know what he does. I don’t raise his decisions to question.” He shook his head and sighed.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Glorfindel gave him a confused look. “His punishment broke him. Does he deserve pity, although he deserved the punishment without doubt? Think about it.” Mithrandir greeted him with a nod and left. Glorfindel followed him with his eyes, finally he stretched and went back to bed. He felt more calm now, Mithrandir had this effect on him. Was he right? Whatever Namo had done to Melkor, it satisfied Glorfindel to know that it had made a lasting impression, but did he deserve his pity for it?

 

Melkor sat on a chair in a corner of the kitchen and shelled peas. He had asked to be allowed to work. He felt well, his back hurt, but he could live with it and thanks to the brace he could walk with the help of a cane. He didn’t want to lie in bed. It had come as a surprise that no one knew who he really was, but he was grateful that Elrond had kept his identity a secret.

A part of him still searched for the rub in Elrond’s and Meldor’s kindness, but he had decided to accept it as long as it lasted. He would be back in Mandos soon enough. He lived on borrowed time, but he would use it. Not, that it was easy for him to be with other people and it didn’t make it easier that they called him by an unfamiliar name. Fearetho... he smiled at Meldor’s choice, it made very clear, how the healer saw him.

Was he really saved? And from what? From the Valar? From himself? He winced when someone addressed him, but it was only Telgon, who wanted to know how the peas came along. He had caught him unawares and Melkor stayed back trembling when the elf left with the full bowl. No, it wasn’t easy. They were so kind to him, all of them, tried to help where they could, but... maybe that made it even worse.

He knew, after all, how they would treat him, if they knew that he was Morgoth. Melkor pressed his palms down on his thighs and hummed softly ere the shock turned into a panic attack. It wouldn’t be the first time that Meldor had to come and calm him. He was glad, that Meldor didn’t try to dissuade him, in spite of that. Melkor wanted to be here, he owed these elves, he wanted to give something back for their help.

 

“I have a gift for you”, Melkor said and moaned when his vertebrae creaked, Meldor’s fingers kneaded his tense muscles. “A gift?” “Yes, if you... come with me to the music room.” Meldor came for him now and then - Melkor had his own room by now, near the kitchen so he didn’t have to walk so far - and smuggled him to the piano late at night. Melkor never asked for it, he didn’t want to demand something that would get Meldor into trouble, but he needed the piano for his gift.

“You rouse my curiosity. Not today, you know that you shouldn’t move too much after I’ve finished, but tomorrow maybe.” Melkor nodded and closed his eyes. He had learned to trust Meldor and he wanted to thank him for his friendship – the only way he knew how.

Melkor almost couldn’t sit still the next evening. He knew that it was too early, Meldor never risked it before all of Imladris slept, but he was nervous. He had looked at the notes so often that he could play it by heart, but he hadn’t had opportunity to practise and that made a difference. Melkor tapped at the table as if the wood were piano keys, but it wasn’t the same as sitting behind a real piano.

Finally he heard Meldor’s knocking, they had made up a special rap, so he’d know that it was Meldor and hadn’t to be frightened. This elf did so much for him. Melkor positioned his cane with care, so that it wouldn’t make a sound, when he walked with Meldor along the dark, silent corridors. Meldor grinned at him, he vibrated with suppressed anticipation and Melkor was glad that he had brought himself to do this. He didn’t understand why, but Meldor cared for how he was and he wanted to be his friend.

It had never been easy for Melkor to voice his feelings, even before, when the thought of speaking hadn’t made him break out in cold sweat. Melkor sat down at the piano and started to play without an explanation. He didn’t know if this would work, if Meldor could understand – Mablung would have understood, but he didn’t want to think of Mablung now, or his hands would tremble and make playing impossible.

A strand of hair fell in front of his eyes – they were so long again, he would ask Meldor later to cut them – it irritated him, but he couldn’t wipe it away and after a while, when the music wrapped around him, he didn’t care anymore. Sometimes, when he played, he almost felt as if he could hear again what he had lost. He put all his gratefulness into the tune. It was a song, Meldor didn’t understand the words, he wouldn’t even recognise them as words, but elves had a natural feeling for music.

When the last notes faded and he looked at Meldor, he knew that it had worked. The elf beamed at him, his eyes shining. “Thank you”, he croaked and coughed. “That is a wonderful present, Melkor.” “I’m glad that you like it”, Melkor answered softly. “No one has ever written a song for me. You have my friendship, Melkor, thank you for letting me know what that means to you.”

Melkor stood slowly and embraced him. He normally shied away from touches, but it seemed to be the right thing now. Meldor returned the embrace hesitantly, but when he noticed that it was okay for Melkor, he pulled him tighter. “Thank you”, whispered Melkor. Regardless of what his siblings had planned for him, at least here was an elf that didn’t hate him like poison.

Melkor decided to wait with his request to cut his hair. Meldor hated to do it because, in his eyes, he humiliated him with it and Melkor didn’t want to make him sad now. It felt too good to know that he had made him happy. He had been so foolish to hate the elves. He should have never vented his anger on Eru’s children. He only wished, he had understood that sooner.

 

_3019 T.A._

Melkor spent a free afternoon in the garden of the hospital as he often did. It was so peaceful here and because scarcely an elf was ever so badly hurt that he had to stay longer here, no stranger would disturb him. Meldor’s presence was welcome and the other healers left him alone. The garden was secluded between two buildings and a rock face and so Melkor did notice that something was wrong only when the first injured were brought in and a frenzy of activity erupted in the house.

Melkor stood with the help of his cane and walked inside. It looked like after a battle, bleeding elves lay on the beds, groans filled the air. Meldor crossed his way and looked at him wide eyed. “Go back to the garden, Melkor. I can’t...” “What happened, Meldor?” Melkor held him back by his arm. “We are being attacked, by orcs.” Melkor shivered. “Has Art...”, he swallowed the name and started again. “Does Sauron have the Ring?”

Meldor stared at him as if he wondered where he had heard of that, but then he seemed to decide that that wasn’t important now. “No, if he had it, we’d know, but... that only means that our situation is serious and not hopeless.” Melkor gripped the handle of his cane tighter. He couldn’t fight, that was clear, not with his stiff back that punished ever fast movement with pain. But he could... could he? He would have to be there, it wouldn’t work from the music room in his condition and in the courtyard he wouldn’t have a piano.

He’d only have his voice and the memory of how orcs felt. It wouldn’t be enough probably, he hadn’t much of his power left. ‘But’, a soft voice said in his head, ‘you put your power in the things you made, including the orcs.’ “Melkor, where are you going?”, Meldor called after him, when he limped from the room as fast as he could. Melkor was glad, that his friend was too occupied with the wounded to come after him.

He could hear the sounds of the battle soon. The attackers hadn’t yet made it to the courtyard, but there was fighting on the battlement. He saw Glorfindel fighting at the front line, Elrond stood in armour, that still had the crest of Gil-galad on it, in the courtyard and coordinated the transport of the wounded. He looked at him with a gaze half of doubt, half of dismay. What did he think? That he would stab them in the back?

At any other time, Melkor would have cowered under his gaze, but now there was no time for fear. He wasn’t a hero, he had always preferred to let others fight for him, but now he hadn’t a choice. The thought of Meldor or one of his acquaintances from the kitchen coming to harm pained him. These people did everything to help him and it didn’t cheapen their kindness that they didn’t know who he was.

“I have to get onto the battlement”, he said to Elrond. “Maybe I can buy you a little time.” Time was all they needed. A day, a week, a month, until the little man had fulfilled his impossible task. Melkor had heard much in the kitchen that Elrond surely wouldn’t have wanted him to know. They said it was a desperate deed and maybe it was, but... it wasn’t Fingolfin who had defeated him and it hadn’t been the host of the Valar that had made him yield to his siblings, a young slave had made him do it.

Artano had just as little concern for the  little people as he had had. He wouldn’t see the threat until it was too late. He hoped, that they would make it. Elrond looked as if he wondered which question to ask first, but then he shook himself. “Follow me.” People made room for him and Melkor followed in his shadow. It was cramped on the wall and the smell of blood and smoke was thick, the noise was deafening, he would have to drown it out.

Melkor braced himself with both hands on the cool, rough stones and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and consciously. He heard Elrond say something, but he didn’t listen to the words. The first notes that came from his mouth sounded clumsy and unwieldy in his ears, he hadn’t done this for a long time, when he had played piano, he had very consciously _just_ played.

 

Elrond felt as if a bucket of ice water had been emptied over him, when Melkor started to sing. He felt Vilya react to the music and something else, deeper inside him – the legacy of his great-grandmother. He didn’t understand what Melkor sang, but he had the notion that it was Valarin. Should he stop him? Could he trust him?

“What is he doing?”, Glorfindel shouted into his ear, he had fought through the melee to come to his side. “Helping us”, Elrond answered and hoped that it was true. Vilya surely would have told him if it were a dark enchantment. Although Melkor didn’t sing particularly loud, his song could be heard all along the wall. He saw elves turning in bewilderment to the singer, a distraction that could have cost them their lives if the orcs hadn’t acted the same way. They seemed even more confused.

For endless moments they seemed to waver, then the first turned and fled. Glorfindel’s gaze wandered between them and Melkor, then he started to issue orders to secure the wall. They wouldn’t pursue the orcs, they couldn’t take the risk. Melkor fell silent, his eyes looked into space. “Thank you”, Elrond said softly. He didn’t doubt that they owed the sudden flight of the orcs to him. Melkor smiled wryly.

“A little time”, he said with hoarse voice. “ _This_ orcs won’t come back, not if not Sauron himself forces them to, but I can’t promise that others won’t attack.” Elrond took his arm when he staggered and stooped to lift the cane that had fallen to the floor. “Why?”, he said softly. He saw Melkor gulp, for a moment he thought, he wouldn’t get an answer, but then he said: “Because I have to start somewhere to make amends for what I did.”

Elrond didn’t know what to say. Melkor had done so much evil. How should he ever make amends for all this? But wasn’t it the nature of mercy to forgive something, although the debt hadn’t been paid? He helped him down the stairs, Melkor almost fell, trembling with fatigue. Glorfindel waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, his face carefully blank. “What did you tell them?”, he barked and Elrond felt Melkor wince.

“Gentle, Glorfindel, he just won us a battle.” “Yes, and I’d like to know, how. I know, what Valarin sounds like, as do you, Elrond. I want to be sure that he hasn’t just relied a plan to them.” “Sure?” Elrond huffed. “As Maglor isn’t here, we can never be sure. I don’t know any other elves who speaks Valarin.” That made Melkor smile for some reason, followed by a look of such desperation that Elrond’s heart broke.

“I told them, who I am”, Melkor answered Glorfindel’s question, a tremble in his voice. “I told them, what will happen to them, if they dare to come back. You are lucky that my name can frighten them so. I bluffed, I wouldn't be able to do anything.” “You did enough”, Elrond said gently. Glorfindel huffed, but he refrained from speaking his mind and when he turned away, Elrond saw a pensive look on his face.

Melkor moaned when they walked back to the house. “Are you in pain?” Elrond turned to the hospital. Melkor nodded. “But I’m sure, you have more urgent patients now. You shouldn’t delay yourself with me.” “I can’t let you go home alone in your condition.” Halfway to the hospital, Meldor came running along the hallway. “What happened? I’m hearing the wildest rumours. The secrecy is over, I fear. They all want to know, who he is.”

Elrond allowed Meldor to take Melkor who had started to tremble like a leaf. The idea, that everyone could learn, who he was, obviously frightened him. “He put the orcs to flight with a song.” Yes, it couldn’t be more obvious. “We’ll come up with an idea. Put him to bed, Meldor, he overexerted himself.”

 

Melkor lifted his arms so Meldor could take off the brace and cautiously eased himself down on the bed. He had ran too fast, he had noticed it already while he did it, but he had had to hurry. Meldor rubbed his hand over his back. “You’ll have to take it easy the next few days.” Meldor fetched the massage oil. “Do you think, Elrond will tell them?” “I don’t know what he is going to do.” Meldor shrugged. “But he will make sure that you don’t come to harm.”

Melkor moaned when he kneaded his muscles. “But...” He had been glad that no one knew his identity. It hadn’t been important for Meldor, but he knew that that wouldn’t be the case with all. “You chased the orcs away?” “Yes, I had to. I couldn’t let you fight, if I could end it.” Meldor smiled and wiped a strand of hair from his face. “Thank you. Maybe they will learn, who you are, but so many did see what you did for us today. Don’t be frightened, Melkor, no one will hurt you as long as I’m here.”

Melkor closed his eyes, the pain in his back turned, thanks to Meldor’s touch, from a sharp tearing to a dull strain. He felt secure, when Meldor was with him. He wanted to believe him. “You should go back. I’m not badly hurt, others need your help more than me.” “Promise me, that you’ll stay in bed. And don’t brood too much about the future. Rest.” Melkor nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he would be able to. But he was so exhausted, to sing had been tiring, maybe he could sleep a little, after all.


	58. Chapter Fifty-Seven

_3020 T.A._

Mablung woke with a music in his ears he hadn’t heard for years. “Mórhuin?”, he mumbled sleepily and sat up. It was dark, the moon stood too deep at this time of year to lighten his room. He heard rustling and then one of the oil lamps was lighted and shone on Mórhuin’s elfish shape. “Here you are!” He smiled at him, Mablung could feel his gladness. “Are you well?” “Yes, very much. You searched for me?” “Yes, he’s back, Mablung!”

“Who?” Mablung rubbed his eyes. Why did he wake him in the middle of the night? “Melkor. He’s back!” “No, that can’t be.” Mablung’s heart started to race. He didn’t want to – he mustn’t – believe it, his hope would only be crushed again. “I saw him myself. Saw and felt him. He is in Imladris. He isn’t well, Mablung, he needs you.” “Did you talk to him? And what is he doing in Imladris?” Mablung didn’t know what to think. He feared he was only dreaming.

Mórhuin sat on his bed and took his hand. “I don’t know, and no, I didn’t talk to him. Imladris isn’t completely safe for me, many elves there would be able to recognise me for what I am. I only watched him from afar, but I could feel him. He’s different... hurt.” “I have to go back to him.” Mablung remembered well, what he had seen in his dreams. What might the torture have done to Melkor? Even such a strong man as him... He suppressed the urge to leave immediately. He owed Sharonn at least a farewell. Oh, Sharonn!

His love to Melkor had never been in doubt, but the king meant much to him – in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Mablung knew, he wouldn’t see him again, if he left. Sharonn was already old for a human. Mablung hoped, he wouldn’t think, that he left him because of his age. “I’ll talk to the king.” Mablung stood up and dressed. He didn’t delude himself to think that he would be able to sleep again this night. “Wait here.”

Sharonn’s rooms were next to his, they saved appearances but not more. Mablung kissed his sleeping lover on the cheek. “Wake up, Sharonn.” “What time is it?” Sharonn buried his face in the pillow. “Too early to wake you, forgive me.” Mablung caressed his soft hair that had turned grey in the last few years. “A message reached me. Melkor is in Imladris, I have to go to him.” “You are leaving me?” Sharonn smiled sadly.

“I’m so sorry.” Mablung bowed his head. “No! I know, how much you love him and I appreciated the love you gave me all the more because of it. I knew, that I couldn’t keep you forever. You made me so happy, find your own happiness now.” Mablung surrendered to his tears. “I’m going to miss you, beloved. It feels so faithless to leave you now.” Sharonn shook his head. “You waited so long for him, you shouldn’t have to wait one day longer. Don’t feel bad for my sake. I’m an old man, my time draws to an end. I’m grateful that I was allowed to spend a part of your life with you.” Sharonn kissed his mouth. “Will you stay for the night?”

“Of course.” Mablung crawled under the blanked and embraced him. “Why are you still here?”, Sharonn whispered after a while. “I _am_ an old man and you still look as you did when I met you for the first time. Don’t you feel disgust for my wrinkled skin?” “What are you thinking?” Mablung gave him a look full of love. “The pain in my heart vanishes, when I am with you. I lived so long with a torn, bleeding heart, you treated the wounds. You aren’t another person, just because your body changed. I love you, Sharonn, it doesn’t matter if you are young or old and I would have stayed with you until the end, if...”

Sharon laid his fingers on his lips. “It’s fine, Mablung. You belong to Melkor, I always knew that.” He pulled his signet ring from his finger and closed Mablung’s hand around it. “Take this as a gift and a memory. We say that if there is only one man who keeps you in his memory, you are not completely dead. Don’t forget me.”

“Never, Sharonn.” Mablung was crying again. “I’ll never forget the boy who had pity with an injured elf and neither the man who had the courage to love this elf although his upbringing forbade it.” He slid the ring on his forefinger. “The life with you is, and will always be, a part of me. Don’t forget, what I told you: Death is a gift from Eru the Second Born. Don’t turn that gift into a curse by clinging to life when you know it is over.”

 

Mablung’s teeth chattered. It was pouring, his cloak was soaked through and stuck wet and cold to his skin. He wasn’t used to the northern weather anymore, the almost eternal summer in the south had done him good. Although he would see Melkor again soon, his mood was at a low point. Somewhere around here the valley had to be, but it was so dark by now that he couldn’t even see the hand before his eyes.

“It’s no use, Mórhuin.” Mablung got ready to dismount. ‘Do you really want to make camp now?’ Mórhuin snorted sullenly, he was moody, too. ‘It’s raining and Imladris is close. I can feel them, these damned elves, but I can’t find them!’ “How did you do it the last time?” ‘I followed one of their patrols. I thought, I’d find the way again.’ Mablung squinted into the darkness. If he wasn’t wrong... “Is that a light?” He pointed in the direction.

‘With our luck, it’s trolls.’ ‘The poor trolls’, Mablung thought with a chuckle. Mórhuin didn’t sound as if he would tolerate to be delayed by anyone. The splatter of the rain covered their sounds so that the elf, who stood with a lamp under a bluff and visibly cursed his lot, did only notice them when they stood before him. He started and reached for his weapon.

“Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo”, Mablung addressed him and the elf relaxed when he realised that he was an elf. “My name is Mablung. I’m searching for Imladris”, Mablung continued. “But I seem to have lost my way. Can you help me?” “A terrible weather to be on the road. But you are on the right way.” He pointed behind himself. “Follow the white stones, you’ll soon see the light of the house. You’ll be there in an hour. I would come with you, but my watch lasts till dawn.”

Mablung thanked him and rode on. It wasn’t easy to find the white stones in the dark, but now that they knew the rough direction, Mórhuin oriented himself and soon Mablung dismounted on a cobbled courtyard. It was peace now, but still there was a guard at the door that greeted him and showed him the way to the stables. Mablung ensured that Mórhuin was well accommodated before he followed his guide to the main house.

“I’ll lead you to the Hall of Fire. All with free time will be there at this time. Erestor is going to find a room for you.” Mablung heard music when they came closer. “I don’t want to bother anyone”, he said shyly. The thought, that soon all of Imladris could get a look on him, made him nervous. He didn’t like to be in the spotlight. “Nonsense. You are soaked to the bone.” With that the elf opened the door and lead him into a large hall.

Small groups of elves stood or sat together, a big fire burned in the fireplace and Mablung enjoyed the warmth that closed around him when he followed his guide into the room. They headed for a few chairs next to the fire, where three elves sat and talked. The black-haired elf that looked so much like Turgon must be Elrond and... he froze when his gaze wandered to the next elf. He was sixteen again and surprised that someone like Glorfindel would even talk to him, much less ask him to meet him.

He barely noticed that his guide introduced him and left with a bow. “Glorfindel?”, he croaked. But he had fallen! Glorfindel stared at him wide-eyed. “Mablung”, he whispered. “Yes... You live! I thought... I heard a Balrog killed you.” Glorfindel nodded, his throat moved when he swallowed. “Yes, when Gondolin fell, but I was allowed to come back and help the grandson of my king.”

Glorfindel turned a little and looked at Elrond. “That’s Elrond, Master of Imladris, and Erestor, counsellor and Keeper of the House. Mablung is... an old friend.” “Welcome to Imladris, Mablung.” Elrond smiled warmly at him. “You surely want to change your clothes.” Mablung realised that a puddle was forming around him as the water dripped from his clothes. “That would be wonderful.” Erestor stood up. “Follow me, I’ll take you to a guest-room.”

 

Mablung had washed with hot water and wrapped himself in a dressing-gown because the rain had gotten into his bag and his spare clothes were wet. He opened the door, surprised by the knock, and smiled at Glorfindel. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I couldn’t wait any longer.” Glorfindel swept him up into a tight embrace. “Where have you been?” Mablung returned the embrace happily. He had loved Glorfindel once and he hoped that they could be friends.

“I lived in Greenwood, but I travelled a lot. I’m coming from Diarat, that’s a kingdom in the Harad.” Glorfindel watched him surprised, when they sat at the fireplace, where a kind soul had kindled a fire. “You have been to the Harad?” “Yes, I travelled Arda, as I – as we – wanted to.” Mablung felt a lump rise in his throat. Yes, they had wanted to travel Arda together, before everything had turned so wrong.

Glorfindel brushed a tear from his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Mablung. I should have never allowed you to come with me. I should have sent you home after Alqualonde. I... when I realised on the ice that you were gone... it was so awful. It is my fault, what happened to you.” Mablung shook his head. “Do you really think you could have stopped me? I thought myself grown up. I would have followed you, if you wanted it or not. It wasn’t your fault that everything happened as it did. You know... that I have been a slave?” It sounded like it.

Glorfindel nodded. “I asked around, after I was allowed to leave Mandos, but your parents didn’t know anything – your sister told me.” Mablung was startled. “My sister? Where has she heard it?” “She has befriended a certain Mormirion, he told her.” “Mo...” Mablung smiled wryly and shook his head. He'd have liked to know, how he was, but there was something more important on his mind now. “I heard, that Melkor is here. Is that true?”

He trembled with excitement. Could it really be true? He would only believe it truly when he saw him. Glorfindel’s face closed up. “It’s true, yes. Why do you want to know?” “I want to see him. Don’t take me wrong, Glorfindel, but why does it concern you, what business I have with Melkor?” What would Glorfindel think, when he heart that he loved Melkor? “He isn’t Morgoth anymore”, he said and surprised Mablung completely with his words.

“You were his slave and I can’t imagine what you had to live through. I thought for a long time that I could never forgive him, what he did to us all. All this suffering, that we had to experience because of him, but... He paid, Mablung, he was punished severely. You wouldn’t recognise him now.” Mablung gulped. It sounded awful.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” Tears came to his eyes. “I love him, Glorfindel. I didn’t dare to tell him back then, and I regretted it my whole life. I want to be with him, Glorfindel, that’s why I’m here. Is it... is it really so bad?” Glorfindel nodded. “It broke him. He is full of fear, the only one he trusts is Meldor, the healer that tended him after Manwe brought him here. So, you love him?” His face was unreadable.

“Yes”, Mablung answered. “He is the One, Glorfindel, I know that sounds insane, but...” Glorfindel shook his head. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Mablung. I hope, he deserves your love.” Mablung was surprised that he accepted it so easily, but he didn’t want to question it now, he was glad that he didn’t have to explain.

“Will you bring me to him?” “Tomorrow. He’ll be in bed by now. Why don’t you tell me in detail, what brought you to Diarat?” “Gladly.” Mablung reclined and closed his eyes partway. He wanted to run to Melkor, now, and never leave his side again, but he didn’t show it to Glorfindel. He was happy, to see Glorfindel again, but he would have been happier to see Melkor.

 

Melkor sat on a bench in the garden of the hospital. It was his favourite spot, on a stream and hidden under the low hanging branches of a willow. No one disturbed him here, Meldor kept anyone away. That was why he liked to come here, although he no longer lived in the hospital. And because of Meldor – his friend. Melkor smiled at the thought.

Yes, Meldor was his friend, despite everything, and if his work allowed it, he sat with him and told him gossip or just hummed in his slightly off way. Melkor knew that he didn’t expect him to talk and that made it easier to do it sometimes. He wasn’t frightened of Meldor anymore.

Melkor straightened when he heard voices from the house and froze when he realised that they came in his direction. He recognised Meldor’s voice and was relieved that he was there, he wouldn’t allow anything bad happening to him. Glorfindel was with him, too, and that made him feel uneasy. Glorfindel thought himself in his debt since he had driven off the orcs, but he hadn’t forgiven him.

There was another elf. A soft voice that he felt he should know, but he didn’t remember... and then he saw _him_. It hit him like a punch to the stomach. He couldn’t breathe, fear gripped his heart. How could it be that he was here? Or was he here to take him back? No! No, please! Meldor ducked underneath the branches, a smile on his lips that vanished when he saw Melkor’s  wide eyes.

“You recognised him, didn’t you?” Meldor squeezed his hand, but Melkor pulled it back, he couldn’t bear a touch now – and he couldn’t speak, so he nodded. “You don’t need to be frightened, Melkor. He isn’t here to hurt you, he doesn’t bear a grudge. To the contrary. But I think, he should tell you himself.” “No!” Melkor clung to his sleeve. “Don’t allow him to come closer. Please!” “I see how much he frightens you... Very well, maybe it was too unexpected. I’ll tell him to leave.” Melkor closed his eyes relieved.

 

Mablung could feel Melkor, he was so close. He couldn’t wait for the healer to prepare him for his arrival, he wanted to crawl under this willow and embrace him. But he could feel clearly that Melkor wasn’t as he had been. The absolute confidence was gone, the pride... the anger. Instead there was fear, deep, bottomless fear that had him in its grip. He had to be careful with him. Mablung gulped at the thought of what he had had to bear to become like this.

The healer, Glorfindel had introduced him as Meldor, emerged from under the willow, his look was serious. “I’m asking you to leave now, Mablung. I’m sorry, but Melkor is very frightened.” “Of me?” Mablung’s lips felt numb. “But...” “He thinks that you want him ill. You know yourself what he did, better than me.” “He thinks that I hate him?” Mablung felt tears run down his cheeks. “Let me talk to him, please.”

Meldor shook his head. “He isn’t well. If you really want to help him, go now.” “But...” Mablung sniffled. He had imagined this so differently. “Melkor”, he called and changed to Valarin. “I followed your last order, but when I read your letter, I wished I hadn’t. It was too late to see you again. You wrote, you wish that I don’t hate you.” He sobbed. “I love you, Melkor! I loved you long before you acknowledged me as a feeling being. I could never hate you.”

His voice broke. “I want nothing more than to see you again.” Mablung waited, hoping that Melkor would come out from under his tree – and waited. When it became clear that he wouldn’t receive an answer, he hung his head and walked back to the house. Glorfindel wordlessly put his arm around his shoulders.

 

Meldor returned to Melkor when Mablung and Glorfindel were out of sight. Mablung had surprised him when he told him why he wanted to see Melkor, but he had believed him, he had sounded honest. He wished Melkor happiness and this elf seemed to really love him. The pain in his eyes, when he had understood that Melkor didn’t want to see him... Melkor trembled, tears streaked down his cheeks.

“What did he say?”, Meldor asked softly.  Melkor sobbed. “He said, he loves me. How could I ever believe him? That is only a cruel plan to hurt me even more. How could he love me?” “Why do you think so? Because he was your slave? He assured me, that he doesn’t hold it against you.” Meldor chose his words carefully. Melkor did never talk about his past, neither Angband nor his captivity in Mandos. Whenever he had tried to learn something of it, Melkor had closed up and stopped speaking completely.

“I know that he hates me!” Melkor shook with sobs. “He was there”, he whispered. “Where?” Meldor laid his hand on his arm but took it away when he felt Melkor tense. Melkor shook his head. He couldn’t talk about it, so it seemed, and Meldor didn’t push him. He wondered, what Melkor felt for Mablung, Mablung had shown him the letter, old and faded, but kept like a treasure.

“Maybe you are wrong”, he said gently. “I’m sorry that I brought him here without telling you before, I should have known that it would upset you. Maybe you’ll be able to talk to him when you have gotten used to the thought.” Melkor shook his head. “I don’t understand how he can be here", he whispered.

 

Mablung leaned against Glorfindel and tried to stop his tears. “He doesn’t want to see me. Why doesn’t he want to see me?” Glorfindel patted his back. “He is very shy, Mablung. He only talks to a handful of people and you... If you hadn’t told me that it was otherwise, I would have been sure that you hate him. Of course he thinks so, too.” “But I told him. I love him.” Mablung shook his head and pulled himself together.

“No, you are right. Of course he doesn’t believe me. They hurt him. How could they go so far?” Glorfindel shook his head. “He deserved it, Mablung. You can’t be so blind with love that you don’t remember, how he was. He deserved his punishment.” Mablung closed his eyes tightly. “Maybe, but... I love him. I forgave him a long time ago and I don’t want him to suffer. I will have patience. As much patience as he needs. I waited six thousand years for him, I can wait a few years longer. I’ll stay. How can I be of use?”

“I’m sure, Erestor will find something for you to do.” Glorfindel patted his shoulder. “I would have wished, for your sake, for this meeting to go better, but I’m glad that you’ll stay.” Mablung nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. He hadn’t even been able to take a look at Melkor. Maybe it would have been enough to feel him, if he were a Maia, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to see him, to look into his eyes. He wanted to share his pain, he wanted to embrace him and tell him that everything would be allright.

He had imagined their reunion so often, had dreamed of it, but Melkor had never been a broken man, he had never feared him. He had to face reality now, life was rarely like a dream. Mablung clenched his fists. He would be with Melkor again, he would make his dream come true.


	59. Chapter Fifty-Eight

Melkor was restless, he knew that Mablung was in the kitchen. ‘Concentrate on the food’, he told himself again. He would burn something if he stayed so distracted. Why had they put him in his shift? He felt as if everyone had united against him. Couldn’t Mablung go back where he had come from? Couldn’t he understand that he feared him? No, he knew that he feared him! It gave him pleasure to see him like this!

Melkor stirred the soup frantically so it wouldn’t burn, he had forgotten while thinking about Mablung. For a moment he thought about nothing besides how to save the soup and suddenly he felt warm all over. He was completely relaxed, felt safe. He searched for the source of this feeling on instinct. Someone was playing a violin, that was unusual, normally they did that after dinner in the Hall of Fire. It was this melody that cal...

The spoon slid out of his fingers. Mablung! That was Mablung! He could hear him, he hadn’t heard something so clearly since Angband. He looked around cautiously. How could it be that his music felt so good although he had hurt him so much? Melkor fished the spoon out of the soup with trembling fingers. He forced himself to think of the times, Mablung had visited him in Mandos. He had never heard him then. Did that mean... he hadn’t been it? But he had looked like he did now.

And if it hadn’t been Mablung, who then? Had Namo done this to him? Had he ensured that he would fear the man he loved? ...who loved him? Melkor sobbed and wiped his eyes before his tears fell into the soup. Mablung, he could hear that he looked at him, he could hear his _love_. How was this possible? The dreams. He had thought it to be a trick of Irmo so that Mablung’s hate would only hurt him the more. Had the dreams been real after all? Had Mablung dreamed them, too? Had Irmo shown him mercy?

For the first time since a very long time, Melkor allowed himself to dream of a future with Mablung. Only... he would have to speak with him first. Melkor swallowed, even the thought let him tremble. His music calmed him, but when he looked at him, he was filled with panic and he remembered how he – no, someone who had looked like him – had pressed a torch to his belly, so he would look at him. No, he couldn’t talk to him, not today – and not in front of others. His colleagues were kind to him, but the thought to talk to Mablung for the first time since Angband in front of them... No, that wasn’t possible.

 

“So, how did you like your first day with us?”, Celedin asked when they sat down next to each other at the table. “Exhausting”, Mablung sighed blissfully, glad to be able to finally sit down. He had been on his feet for the better part of the evening, waiting on others. “But I like it here. Thank you for your help.” Celedin had helped him to find his way around, it would take a while until he was sure with everything, but he already felt comfortable. His colleagues were nice – and he could be close to Melkor.

“Is this place free?” Mablung looked up, one of the cooks stood beside him and smiled at him. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I’m Galadros.” Mablung took the offered hand. “Mablung. I’d like to keep this place for Melkor, if you don’t mind.” Galadros laughed and walked around the table to sit down opposite Mablung. “That’s okay with me, but you won’t be lucky, he never eats with us. He’s a little shy, not to say completely crazy.” Mablung growled. “You wouldn’t be completely stable yourself, if you’d been tortured for thousands of years.”

“I’m sorry.” Galadros had the decency to look contritely. “I had no idea, that you’ll take it so serious. It was inappropriate.” “No harm done. I’m just a little thin-skinned concerning Melkor. I’m surprised that you accept him here.” “Elrond didn’t tell us, who he is”, Celedin said. “And when it came out... It happened in the war, we were attacked by orcs and he put them to flight. All of Imladris heard him sing on this day and we knew that this man wasn’t an elf. After that, Elrond told us the truth, but...

He had protected us and he was so frightened. I won’t deny that it gives me a certain feeling of satisfaction to know that he got his punishment, but I can’t hate someone who treats me like I would beat him for a wrong word. I pity him.” Approving murmurs followed Celedin’s words und Mablung relaxed. He would never think just, what the Valar had done to break Melkor, but pity was better than nothing.

“And you?”, Galadros asked. “You seem to take it remarkably calmly that he is here.” “I’m here because he is”, Mablung answered and pulled his shoulders to his ears, but then he straightened. No, he wouldn’t hide. “I love him”, he said and looked around sternly. Let them try to raise his love to question. “I knew him a long time ago, in Angband, and I love him.” The elves stared at him, amazed, but they kept their thoughts to themselves and Mablung was glad for it.

 

Mablung answered the knock on his door and looked surprised at the healer. “I hope, you don’t think me insolent for visiting you”, he said with a nervous look on his face. “We should talk about Melkor.” “Come in.” Mablung closed the door behind him and offered him a seat. “I was a little harsh the other day, I fear”, Meldor continued. “I’m sorry, but Melkor is my friend and when he is so filled with fear I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“I understand, I was only startled by the whole situation. I could have never imagined Melkor fearing me.” Mablung swallowed hard. “What happened to him?”, he whispered. “Do you know?” Meldor shook his head. “He doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t like to speak anyway and if one tries to ask him about his time in Mandos, or his past in general, he often doesn’t speak for days after. I thought at first that it would maybe help him to talk about it, but...” Meldor shrugged.

“Maybe it is too fresh. I can’t tell you exactly, what finally made him the way he is now, but I saw the wounds on his body. He has been beaten severely and he had large burns that were inflicted on purpose.” “Burns?” Mablung shivered. Melkor was fire, Melkor couldn't be burned. “That’s...” “He paid.” Meldor’s face was serious. “I don’t doubt it.” Mablung didn’t look away. “I can only repeat that I love him. I forgave him a long time ago. I would do everything, _everything_ , to be with him.”

Meldor squeezed his hand. “I believe you, that’s why I’m here. Maybe we can help him together. He trusts me more than most others because I spent a lot of time with him – and still do.” Mablung felt a faint twinge of jealousy because this elf could be close to Melkor, but he pushed it aside. That was completely useless. “What can I do? He doesn’t even want to see me.” “He wants to. It’s good that you work with him. You speak Valarin, don’t you? That was, what you did in the garden?”

Mablung nodded and smiled through tears in his eyes. “He taught it to me. He was so lonely, he wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” “What I want to say is that it soothes him when someone sings in his presence. I got into the habit of humming songs when I’m with him, it seems to help him. Do you think, you could hum when you are in the kitchen.” “He shouldn’t be in need of that.” Mablung had a cold lump in his stomach.

Glorfindel had said that Melkor had lost all his power, but after he had heard in what way he had sent the orcs running, he hadn’t been able to believe it. “Ainur can hear the Music that is in all things. He should be able to hear our feelings. If he can’t do that...” “Would he be so afraid if he could?” Meldor looked thoughtfully. “Maybe that explains it. It has to be like for one of us to lose his sight. He isn’t used to read feelings from facial expressions.” “Or he believes us all to be very good liars. I’ll sing for him if it convinces him that I love him.” “You’ll get him back.” Meldor smiled confidently. “He just doesn’t dare to hope yet.”

 

~*~*~

 

“He’s waiting for you.” Melkor moaned when Meldor dragged his hands down his back. If he hadn’t known that he would feel better after, he wouldn’t have allowed him to touch him. “Who do you mean?”, he asked, although he had a notion of what Meldor was speaking.

“You know very well, who I mean! I’m talking about Mablung. He leaves a place for you at every meal, every day. He is very persistent, don’t you think? And that in an unobtrusive way that leaves you every option. Don’t you want to give him a chance? How is he supposed to prove to you that he meant his words, if you keep away from him? And”, Meldor dug his fingers into Melkor’s neck muscles, “you are much more relaxed since he is here, I can feel it. His closeness does you good. Don’t you think, that he should know that?”

Melkor knew that his friend was right. Mablung’s melody was a constant and his ability to feel it had strengthened in the last weeks, by now he heard him always, all the more distinctly because it was the only thing he heard. He slept better with Mabung’s music in his ears – but he was also now and then woken by his fear. Mablung had nightmares, still.

Now, that Melkor knew how it was to wake trembling and crying, he wished he had embraced him when Mablung's nightmares had woken him in Angband. He hadn’t been able to, he hadn’t wanted to accept the gentleness that had been growing in his heart. “You are right, but I’m so frightened. He is everything I wish for – ever wished for. I can’t believe that he loves me, that it should be so easy.”

“Then go to him! Let him show you that it is the truth.” “I can’t. There, at the meals, with all the people – I can’t. And to visit him in his room?” Melkor shook his head. “I can’t be alone with him, but I can’t speak to him with people around, either.” “How about meeting him in the garden, and I would be close by. I’ll come and rescue you, if you need me.” Melkor gulped. “I... It’s just...”

“I know.” Meldor laid his hand gently on his head. “But don’t shy away from love because you think you don’t deserve it. Tomorrow?” Melkor shivered. Could he really do it? Was he sure that it hadn’t been Mablung that had visited him in Mandos? No, but... “Tomorrow”, he croaked. Tomorrow he would know the truth.

 

Melkor hadn’t slept well tonight, kept awake by the thought of talking to Mablung. What was he supposed to say? Finally he had remembered something. He gripped the necklace so tightly in his sweaty palm that the petals left an imprint in his skin. He had had it with him when he had yielded and Manwe must have put it around his neck while he had slept. It belonged to Mablung, he would give it back.

He sat under the willow because the place gave him security, but he stood up and walked out of the branches, when he heard Meldor’s voice and Mablung’s music became louder. He held his breath when he really looked at Mablung for the first time. He was so beautiful! His hair was long, much longer than he had allowed it in Angband, he wore it unbound. The wind played with a few of the brown locks. His skin had a dark colour, as if he had been in the sun for a long time and... Melkor swallowed hard when their eyes met.

“Hello, Melkor”, Mablung said softy, his voice trembled. “Mablung”, Melkor whispered and stretched out the hand that held the necklace. “This... belongs to you.” He trembled so hard, he almost didn’t get out a whole sentence. He concentrated on Mablung’s music to calm down – it was full of pain. “Where did you get that from?” Mablung’s fingers brushed his palm when he took the necklace. “It had snapped. I found it... after you left.”

Melkor closed his eyes against the tears. It had hurt so much to lose him. Could it really be that he was allowed to have him back? “Melkor?” He flinched, it was only a gentle touch on his arm, but to be touched at all was too much at the moment. “I’m sorry.” Mablung looked up into his face. Although Melkor was standing a little bowed, he was still taller than the elf. His music radiated so much... gentleness.

“I want you to keep it.” He opened the clasp and lifted the two ends. “May I?” Melkor nodded and waited stiffly until Mablung had closed the necklace around his neck, almost an embrace. He gave him the necklace of his sister. Something, that had meant so much to him, that he had dared to utter a wish. “But... your sister.”

Mablung smiled gently, again tears came to Melkor’s eyes because he could hear the smile, too. For the first time, since a long while he could be sure that the one, he was talking to, meant what Melkor saw in his face and heard in his voice. “I love my sister, but  I didn’t forget her without her gift. I want you to know that I love you. I know, you are frightened, I won’t push you. Wear the necklace and remember my words. I love you, I want to be with you, no matter how you want me. Did you forget the dreams?”

“No.” So they had been real. Irmo had helped him. Melkor shook with sobs. He hadn’t doubted Mablungs words, his love, in the dreams. Why else should he have visited him like this? Could he believe him awake, too? After... It had been Namo. Namo had planted the fear of Mablung in him. “Mablung... it’s so hard.” How could he ever tell him? The monstrousness of what Namo had done. “I know. Take your time, melindo.” Melindo... just like that. “Forgive me.” He had done so much wrong. He had hurt him so.

 

“I did that a long time ago”, Mablung answered gently. His arms almost hurt, because he wished to be allowed to embrace him so much, but he saw that that would have been too much for Melkor. His fear pierced his heart, but he had felt hope, too, when he reminded him of the dreams. He clutched the envelope with Melkor’s letter that he wore around his neck – it had been so long ago. “Do you still love me?” Melkor stared at him. “Yes!”, he answered so fast and fiercely that Mablung didn’t doubt him. “But... I can’t talk very well, it frightens me.”

‘What did they do to you?’ Mablung knew, that he mustn’t ask this question. Not now, and maybe never. “You don’t have to talk. Let me be with you, that means everything to me. And... Meldor says that you are humming when you are frightened. You don’t have to talk, you taught me Valarin after all.” Melkor looked as if he had forgotten, then he nodded. Mablung was happy and sad at the same time. Happy, because he finally talked with him, sad because he had imagined their reunion so differently.

They loved each other. Shouldn’t it be natural to be together? But, Mablung smiled wryly, when had anything ever been easy with Melkor? “We belong together and we will be together.” He tried to show confidence, to not allow doubts. He would take on everything and anyone for Melkor. Mablung knew that it hurt Melkor to stand for a longer time, so he asked: “Should we sit down?” He hoped for a ‘yes’ because it would mean that he was allowed to stay.

Melkor nodded and Mablung followed him under the tree, where a bench stood. A book lay there, Melkor took it up, his finger caressed the spine. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again, licked his lips and hummed a few notes. _Will you read for me?_ “Of course.” Mablung opened the small volume and found poems. He smiled when he thought of the day when Melkor had sung for him. Melkor seemed to remember, too, Mablung felt his regret. “I liked to read to you. These are pleasant memories.” How awestruck he had been.

“It lead to you teaching me Valarin, something I always knew to be an act of affection. And it led us to our first joint dream.” _You kissed me._ Melkor glanced at him doubtfully, Mablung still felt his fear, that was why he didn’t say, what he thought: ‘I would kiss you again now.’ “Yes, because I wanted to. I wanted to be close to you. I wouldn’t have dared while awake, but it was a dream...” _I wish..._ Melkor shook his head.

Mablung waited for a moment, but when he stayed silent, he opened the book. Even Valarin didn’t seem to solve all problems, but it was a way. Mablung let a slight melody resonate in his voice as he read, he almost sang the poems – there weren’t different melodies for song and poem in Valarin, for good reason. He was aware that Meldor was close by and maybe that would have hampered him at other times but he pushed the thought aside. If it gave Melkor surety that the healer was there, he would accept him.

He was singing only for Melkor now and if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for any elf. After a while, when he didn’t feel so unsure anymore, he hadn’t declaimed anything for a long time, he closed the book and sang songs that he had learned from his nandorin family, in their language that wasn’t Quenya anymore, but not Sindarin either. They were songs of the wood, about hunts and the turning of the seasons. Nothing that would make Melkor feel guilty as the great songs of the Noldor would surely do.

Melkor sat beside him with half-closed eyes and Mablung could feel how his fear became an almost unnoticeable dissonance and he descended into profound peace. He had accomplished that with his singing and it gave him great pleasure to know that. Mablung reclined and inclined his head towards Melkor so they almost touched. _That was very beautiful. You are a gift._ Mablung laughed softly. “I’m only an ordinary elf, but thank you. Praise from you means much to me, especially for music.”

_I can hear you. You are the only thing I can hear._ “You mean... Oh, Melkor, that must be awful.” _I’m deaf, it is terrible. I don’t know what the people think. To hear you, to hear no hatred from you, that is... You are a gift,_ Melkor repeated. Mablung swallowed hard and blinked away the tears that had come to his eyes. “So you don’t know that Mórhuin came here with me? He would like to see you.” That surprised him. _He is here?_

Mablung nodded. “He stands on the pasture and acts like a normal horse, although I think that some suspect that he is more. Would you like to visit him? I’m sure he’d be happy.” Mablung had told him about Melkor and Mórhuin hadn’t been able to believe it, although he could hear the change in his melody clearly. _Maybe. Is he alright?_ “We helped each other. He told me, that you asked him to look after me?”

Melkor smiled at him. _I feared that you would get lost in the turmoil of war. And I didn’t want him to be taken captive. Mórhuin’s only crime was, to let me ride on his back but they wouldn’t have spared him._ “I’ve become very fond of him. I wouldn’t have come far without him.” He wouldn’t have stood up again after the day he had read the letter, if it hadn’t been for Mórhuin. “We experienced a lot together.”

_Will you tell me about it? What you did all these years._ “If you want to hear it?” Melkor nodded, but then his gaze turned away from him. Meldor coughed politely. He stood outside of the branches and didn’t come to them. “I don’t want to disturb you, but it’s almost time for dinner.” “Should we go to the hall?”, Mablung asked. Melkor squirmed, eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, you never eat there, do you?” Mablung remembered too late. Melkor shook his head. _I eat alone, in my room._

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Mablung could feel between the fear, the uncertainty, the hopelessness a spark of the strength, Melkor had had before. “Not today”, he said, the first words he spoke aloud since Mablung had reminded him that he spoke Valarin. “Let’s go?” Mablung beamed at him, his heart warmed with happiness. “Let’s go.” He offered Melkor his arm, after hesitating for a moment, so that Melkor could  lean onto him, and Melkor’s hand came to rest in the crook of his arm.

Mablung would have never thought that such a simple touch could make him so insanely happy. They got surprised looks when they entered the hall. Mablung felt Melkor tense, his fingers dug into his arm. Mablung started to hum, he had complied to Melkor’s request and he sensed that it helped – they were here, after all. Meldor guided them to the end of one of the tables where his partner already waited. Nirmo needed a place at the edge so he could stand up easier with his crutches.

Mablung and Meldor didn’t need to talk about it, Meldor sat beside Nirmo, Mablung across from him and Melkor got the other place on the edge, so that he was surrounded by friends. Mablung had noticed that not all looked friendly at him, but he hadn’t expected everyone to forgive him. Mablung wondered once again what the Valar had thought when they had brought him here.

They ate in silence, Meldor and Nirmo talked softly and let them be, but Mablung was sure that Melkor wouldn’t be able to get a single word out right now, not even in Valarin. His melody was a storm. Mablung reached out with his hand on instinct and only just stopped himself from touching Melkor’s arm, Melkor still recoiled. “Forgive me”, Mablung murmured. “I didn’t want to startle you.” Melkor shook his head.

“When I was frightened”, Mablung said gingerly, “It helped me to remember myself what I do it for.” Melkor looked at him, a question in his eyes. “I loved you long before Angband’s fall.” Mablung smiled wryly. “I would have done everything for you and that still is the case.”

Melkor shook his head, his humming was so soft that Mablung wouldn’t have heard it between the conversations of the others, if it hadn’t been mirrored in Melkor’s music. _I can’t think, when I’m frightened. My whole being is fear and waits for the pain._ “No one is hurting you. Me least of all.” Melkor had a look in his eyes that Mablung couldn’t read. There was something he didn’t tell him – not that he had told him anything, but... “None of the Valar will never touch you again.” He would protect Melkor, even from Them.


	60. Chapter Fifty-Nine

They sat under Melkor’s willow and dozed after eating lunch out here. It was late summer, half a year had gone by since that rainy night when Mablung had reached Imladris. He saw Melkor often and although there were throwbacks now and then, Mablung felt that they moved forward. In tiny steps, but still... Mablung opened the ever-present book of poetry and sang quietly. It had become a kind of ritual for them.

He let the poem die away before he gave the book to Melkor. It had been Mablung’s idea. He had thought that it might be easier for Melkor to talk to him, if he got used to use is voice in his presence. “Your turn.” “Is that so?” Melkor smiled at him, shyly, to be sure, but the fear wasn’t as present as it had been a few months ago. He chewed on a left over slice of cheese and leaved through the book before deciding on a poem he liked.

They alternated with one another for a while until Melkor faltered. He looked through the page he had opened, seeing something else, and pain flooded his music. “What’s wrong?” Mablung looked over his shoulder. “Oh.” He remembered the words, they were etched into his memory. Melkor blinked furiously but he couldn’t hold back the tears. He sobbed and buried his head in his hands.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was in this book”, Mablung whispered. He hadn’t been aware that it was even known to the elves, he had always thought... If he had seen, he would have chosen another tome. He extended his hand very slowly and laid it on Melkor’s arm, anticipating him to shrink back – instead, Melkor leaned against him and cried on Mablung’s shoulder, his head still buried in his hands. Mablung didn’t dare to move, but he left his hand where it was.

“You wrote this for Manwe, didn’t you?” Melkor nodded sobbing. “How...” Mablung hummed a calming tune. “I guessed since you sang it to me back then. You tried to not let your feelings show, but you were so sad. And you sometimes called for him in your sleep. I will never leave you like he did, I promise”, Mablung whispered gently. “Don’t promise, please!” Melkor sobbed. “You won’t be able to keep your promise.”

Malbung’s heart clenched. “What do you mean?”, he asked, cold sweat running down his back, he didn’t want to hear the answer. “I have to go back, sooner or later. They are going to lock me up again.” “No!” Mablung pulled him close. “That’s nonsense. Why would you be here, if not to set you free?” Melkor shook his head, his voice miserable. “I don’t know. Meldor tries to convince me that they are giving me another chance, but... I know my siblings, it’s not their way. They’ll come after me.”

“No!”, Mablung answered firmly. “I won’t allow them to part us again. I can’t believe that I found you only to lose you again!” How cruel of the Valar to keep Melkor in suspense. Melkor shook his head. “They hate me. They will never forgive me.” Mablung froze when Melkor lifted his head and kissed him. He had longed for this for so long, he wanted to lose himself in this kiss, but he couldn’t. Something was very wrong, the wetness on his cheeks came from Melkor’s tears and he could feel him tremble.

Mablung laid his hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. “Why are you doing that?” Melkor closed his eyes, tears hanging on his lashes. “You waste so much time because of me, but you don’t have this time. I know you want this, you shouldn’t make allowances for me. It doesn’t matter anyway. If you help me or if you hurt me, in the end it won’t make a difference. N... Namo will continue where he stopped, it doesn’t matter, if you, too...” Melkor hugged himself and shut his eyes tightly, he shook with sobs.

“Doesn’t matter?”, Mablung whispered, he was so horrified that he couldn’t  keep his feelings out of his voice. “Do you want to suggest, that it doesn’t matter if I rape you?” He trembled with anger. He wasn’t angry at Melkor, he knew who had implanted this thoughts into his mind - but then a little at him, too. How could he think like that of him? “Maybe they don’t care, but I do – and I doubt that it wouldn’t matter to you!”

Mablung concentrated on breathing to calm down. It didn’t help either of them if he screamed at Melkor, he continued more gentle: “Maybe we don’t have time, but I will never force you to anything. I love you, Melkor, I want to be with you. To have as soon as possible as much sex as possible is not the point.” He wasn’t sure if Melkor even heard him. He was crying, his fists clenched, a prisoner of his fear.

Mablung knew that he mustn’t touch him now, as much as he wished to embrace him, to comfort him. Instead he tried to radiate calm and sang softly until Melkor’s breathing returned to normal. _Forgive me. I didn’t want to insult you._ Mablung shook his head. “You didn’t insult me. You horrified me. I would never want to hurt you, Melkor. It doesn’t matter how much time we have, we won’t rush things. With me, you have all the time you need.”

 

Melkor lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling, he was restless. He was a little surprised that Mablung hadn’t taken him up on his offer and felt shame at the same time because he thought like this. Mablung had been a slave, he knew exactly how it felt to be forced to do something that he didn’t want – thanks to him. It still astonished him that Mablung didn’t want revenge. He was such a kind, gentle person and he loved him. Melkor had made him angry with his rash words, although he had barely shown it.

He had managed again to hurt his beloved. Why couldn’t he make him happy? He didn’t deserve Mablung's love – and it would be for the better if they didn’t get too close. They would be parted again. Better to end this now. The happier he was now, the worse it would get when he had to go back to Mandos. Was that the cause for his freedom? To hurt him even more?

Melkor sobbed, he didn’t want to be parted from Mablung, but he had made up his mind. He would spare them both more pain. He dressed and sneaked to the kitchen to get provisions for the journey. He would find Mórhuin, the Maia was close by, he had promised him that. Mórhuin would take him to the sea. Better to do it now.

 

Mablung immediately noticed that something was wrong, when he woke but it took him a moment until he realised what it was – it was too quiet. He had attuned to Melkor in the last months. Even when he wasn’t in the immediate vicinity, he could at least feel, that he was there. Mablung’s guts clenched. Their conversation of yesterday... he wouldn’t call it a fight but it had left a bad feeling. It hurt him that Melkor thought him capable of harming him.

He had noticed that Melkor treated him with more caution than other elves that were close to him. Mablung had tried to explain it away with him being here only a short while, but there was another reason, he was sure of that. Mablung stood up and dressed. He needed to find Melkor, he wouldn’t be at peace before he did. Would Mórhuin be able to find him? Mablung reached out for his friend and froze when he noticed that he was gone, too. No. His knees became weak.

‘We don’t have time.’ Surely they hadn’t come in the night and taken him? Mablung started to run. Melkor wasn’t in his room, of course, but he had had to look before he told anyone else. Meldor looked up startled when he ran into the hospital. “Is Melkor here?” Sometimes he came to the garden at odd times. “No, I haven’t seen him today.” Meldor looked at him with worry in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find him.” Mablung hadn’t told anyone about his gift and he wouldn’t start now. “Yesterday he talked about the Valar locking him up again. You don’t think they took him in the night, do you?” Now that he said it out loud, it sounded ridiculous. They wouldn’t abduct him when they could officially talk to Elrond. But then... ‘Idiot!’, Mablung berated himself. Melkor ran from his feelings, it had always been like that. He didn’t hear what Meldor called after him, didn’t turn back, when he ran to the guardroom.

He needed Glorfindel’s help. He had the overwhelming wish to hide in his arms and hope that his friend would make things right again. But he wasn’t a child anymore and Melkor was his own business. “He’s gone!” Glorfindel looked up from the report he was reading, and looked puzzled at him. “Who is gone? What happened, Mablung?” He hurried to his feet and took him by the shoulders. Mablung was close to tears. “Melkor. He’s gone – and I can’t find Mórhuin either.”

Glorfindel offered him his chair and crouched down beside him. “Calm down. Did you look everywhere? He can’t be far.” Mablung sniffled and wiped his eyes. “He is gone, I can feel it.” Mablung hesitated, but he could tell Glorfindel. “I can feel the Ainur, their Music. I _know_ that neither Melkor nor Mórhuin are still in Imladris.” Glorfindel stared at him wide eyed. “How... no, doesn’t matter right now.” He shook his head. “But where should he go? A year ago, I would have said that he betrayed us and had gone to find Sauron, but now...”

“I think he’ll go west. Yesterday... he was so desperate because he thinks the Valar will lock him up again. I think, he’s persuaded himself that it is easier for us if we part now.” Mablung was almost sure that it was like that. “He runs from his feelings – maybe from mine, too, I don’t know.” Mablung buried his face in his hands, then he shot up. “I have to follow him.” Glorfindel held him back. “We’ll go together. I’ll let two horses be made ready. We’ll find him, Mablung.”

“Thank you, Glorfindel.” Mablung was relieved that he didn’t have to do this alone. “But we have to hurry. Mórhuin doesn’t tire like a normal horse and if they left in the night, they could be really far by now.” “Maybe he doesn’t tire, but I bet that Melkor already curses himself for ever climbing on his back.” Mablung looked at Glorfindel, he didn’t comprehend, but then he remembered his journey from Diarat to the North. He hadn’t been on a horse for almost fifty years and the first days had been painful. Melkor was probably much more sensitive with his bad back. “We’ll outrun him.”

 

A short time later Mablung sat on a bay horse and sped beside Glorfindel along the road. It was maintained and, thanks to the end of the war, safer than before. They hadn’t to fear an ambush. The bells on Asfaloth’s bridle rang and Mablung had to smile despite everything because Glorfindel had kept this custom for so long. The bells were a sign that he had won the race that took place at the harvest festival - a life ago.

“What are you thinking?” Glorfindel looked at him. “Of how we met. Because of the bells.” Glorfindel laughed softly. “That was long ago, but I remember. You thought, I’m making fun of you.” “Yes, I couldn’t believe that the hero of the race should be interested in me.” “And now you are the elf who Morgoth loves. I find that much harder to believe.” “Don’t call him that, please. He isn’t that anymore.” “You almost sound as if you regret that fact.” Glorfindel threw an unbelieving look at him.

Mablung shrugged ruefully. “No, not really, but... then he wouldn’t be frightened of me at least. I could bear is wrath easier than his fear.” “You love him that much?” “Yes. Do you have someone, Glorfindel? The One?” They hadn’t talked about this topic before. They were still friends but their friendship was just recovering from the long separation.

Glorfindel nodded. “You won’t know him, he was a Nando, one of their leaders, who joined us in Nevrast. His name was Legolas, he died in the Third Kinslaying. I don’t even know if he already left Mandos.” “Has he...” Mablung swallowed the question. Many Nandor thought death to be permanent and Mandos as the final resting place. Glorfindel smiled wryly. “He promised me – we promised each other – that death won’t end our love. He will come back to me, but the separation is hard to bear.”

Mablung nodded. “But you have surety. Can you imagine how it was for me to lose Melkor and to think that I won’t see him again, ever? I know that it’s hard to accept for you that Melkor is the One for me. I won’t ever love someone as much as I love him.” Mablung shook his head sadly. “I know how he was in the past and yes, it was often nasty, but to see him like he is now, cuts my heart into shreds. I want him to be happy. And I want to be with him – at all cost.”

If Mórhuin had told him that Melkor were in Mordor, he would have gone there, too. It would have been harder, but he would have done it. He would have become a slave again, for Melkor... Was that it? Would Melkor stop fearing him if he knelt before him? Mablung postponed the thought. He had to find him first.

 

Melkor had heard the sound of advancing horses behind him for some time, but when Mórhuin asked him if he should run faster again, he had said no. His back hurt with every motion, he doubted that he would be able to dismount on his own. His attempt at leaving Mablung had failed and at the bottom of his heart he was glad, although he feared Mablung’s anger. And how would Elrond react? Melkor was aware that he wasn’t allowed to come and go as he pleased. Would he lock him up?

“Stop, Mórhuin”, he asked the Maia and turned him to the riders closing in on him. His flight ended here. ‘Are you really afraid of Mablung?’, Mórhuin asked surprised. ‘Do you know him so badly? He is the kindest man I know, he would never hurt you.’ “You don’t understand.” Melkor moaned when a painful stab shot through his back. He believed Mórhuin, but not completely, the doubts Namo had implanted in him, would always be there. Mablung and Glorfindel rode up.

“Where did you want to go, Melkor? What do you mean by this?” Mablung looked at him with a hurt expression and Melkor knew that it was his fault again, he was ashamed. “Are you so frightened of me that it is easier for you to go back there than to stay with me?” Mablung’s voice broke, tears ran down his cheeks. What had he run away from? From love? He should know by now that that wasn’t possible.

“That’s not it”, Melkor whispered, he felt like a monster. “I wanted to spare you the pain of getting me back and losing me again. I thought it would be better now than later.” He heard himself how foolish it sounded. If he had wanted to spare Mablung the pain, he should have never talked to him. And it was only one half of the truth. He wanted to love Mablung and to be loved by him, he wanted it so much, but he remembered Mablung’s hateful gaze, that it hadn’t been him didn’t matter. He had believed it was him.

“Melkor...” Mablung sniffled. “I didn’t get over you, when I thought I wouldn’t see you again. Do you think, I could now?” Melkor started to sob. “I’m sorry. So sorry, that I hurt you. I only want you to be happy.” “Then stay with me. Wherever you go, my happiness goes with you.” Mablung reached out and Melkor laid his hand slowly into his. “Take me home, Mablung.”

 

They rode silently for a while. Glorfindel was aware that he was intruding. Melkor couldn’t speak as freely as he could have with Mablung alone. He was in pain, if he interpreted the way he sat on Mórhuin right. Glorfindel brought Asfaloth to a halt. “I don’t think that Melkor can ride far. How bad is it?” Melkor flinched when he addressed him directly, but he answered: “We have to go on. Once I’m off that horse, I won’t get up again.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “No, we can’t go on.” He looked along the road to assess where they were. “A few minutes further we’ll come to a protected clearing close to the street, a good resting spot. I’ll help to set up camp, then I’ll ride on and organise a cart.” Mablung smiled at him. “That’s a good idea. Thank you, Glorfindel.” “You are my friend, Mablung, it’s the least I can do.”

He still didn’t know what to think of Melkor. He _had_ protected them in the war, when he sent the orcs running and Glorfindel was willing to agree with Mithrandir. He deserved his pity. His forgiveness? He wasn’t sure. That Mablung loved him so much, although he had enslaved and abused him, made it harder than easier. But he could treat him kindly for Mablung’s sake. It wasn’t far to the clearing, but they had difficulty getting Melkor off that horse. He could barely move, much less dismount alone.

Glorfindel stood back, he knew how Melkor reacted to touch and didn’t want to provoke a panic attack. In the end, Mórhuin lay down so Mablung could pull Melkor from his back. Glorfindel made a fire in the meantime, but he could hear Melkor’s moans and whimpers. He had to be badly in pain. ‘Serves you right', he thought ungraciously and was ashamed of himself almost immediately. Mablung would be justly disappointed in him if he knew his thoughts. “See you tomorrow.” Glorfindel patted Mablung’s shoulder and mounted Asfaloth. “See you tomorrow, Glorfindel, and thank you again.” Mablung waved at him.

 

Mablung busied himself with taking the provisions Melkor had packed, from Mórhuins back. Mórhuin nudged him with his nose. ‘Are you angry with him?’ Mablung shook his head. ‘Not really. I... I don’t know what to think.’ ‘He’s frightened. Of his love, of you, of the future. Don’t be rough with him.’ ‘I didn’t intend to.’ Mablung leaned his forehead against Mórhuin’s warm neck. ‘But it’s so hard. I never thought that I would be the strong one in our relationship one day.’

‘You always were the stronger, Mablung, even then.’ Mablung looked surprised into his big, dark eye. ‘Don’t you know what a wonder it is that you are still yourself, despite everything? That’s strength, Mablung.’ Mablung looked embarrassed but Mórhuin didn’t let himself be deterred. ‘He never was as strong as you and that has nothing to do with power. I hope you can help him.’ ‘I hope so, too.’ Mablung sat down beside Melkor who had lain down beside the fire.

“Are you hungry?” Melkor shook his head. “Not really.” But when Mablung offered him a piece of cheese and bread, he ate anyway. “Let us count stars”, Mablung said to break the silence. Melkor looked at the sky. “How do you want to do that? It’s still light – and cloudy.” Mablung laughed. “It’s only a phrase! I didn’t know that you don’t know it. To count stars, means telling stories. Old stories, everyone knows, but personal things, too. Whatever comes to mind and seems to be worth telling.”

Mablung reclined on his elbows and looked into the grey sky, it didn’t look very friendly. “You remember maybe that I love the mountains. I found a cave when I was around ten years old. This cave was my hideout whenever I needed time for myself. I brought pillows and blankets up to have it comfortable. I was there on the day you came to take the Silmaril. Father and I had fought again and he had forbidden me to go to the festival, so I had gone up there to sulk.

And then it was dark, so dark that I didn’t know how to get down the mountain again. I never had been so frightened in my life, I didn’t know that it could get so dark, but I was nineteen and I’d have rather bitten off my tongue than called for help. Orome’s people found me. I never were so glad to see other people. I think, my parents were never so glad to see me. The news of Finwe’s death had just gotten around and they feared that I had gotten myself into the mess because no one could tell them, where I was.

Father promised me the beating of my life before he locked me in my room. Maybe I would have stayed there if I hadn’t seen the torchlight. I could hear that something was in the making, so I climbed out of the window and went so find Glorfindel. He tried to send me away, but I didn’t want to go home. I thought myself very mature. Maybe I wouldn’t have left, if I hadn’t been so angry with my father, if we hadn’t fought, I wouldn’t have had the courage to go into the unknown.”

Mablung shook his head. “But that was long ago. I’m glad that I left. I wouldn’t have met you, if I had stayed. Or Thrandiul, Linqil... Maglor. So much that I experienced wouldn’t have happened. No, it was good, that I left. Now tell me something.” “What should I tell you?” Melkor couldn’t meet his eye. “Whatever is on your mind. You can speak Valarin if that is easier.” A shadow moved over Melkor’s face, what was on his mind wasn’t something nice, but then he smiled.

“It was a sunny autumn day, but in me was storm. Because I didn’t want anyone to notice, I went into the mountains and formed a snowstorm. So I sat on a rock and let the snowflakes whip around my head. The storm, the cold snow on my skin, it eased my troubled mind a little. At least as far to be able to be in the sight of my brother again without having to endure annoying questions. I walked around for a while, but suddenly I heard the melody of an elf from nearby.

I had thought to be alone. He sounded weak, that wouldn’t have bothered me much back then, but I knew that I would get into trouble if something happened to him, so I searched for him. I found a child, halfway buried under a snowdrift. I saw that the boy’s leg was broken, when I lifted him up, he didn’t wake up. I carried him down the mountain, warming him with my power. It was warmer in the valley, but I knew that he needed a fire – and someone to tend to his leg.

I tried to wake him and finally could get an address out of him before he lost consciousness again.” Mablung stared at him, the longer Melkor told his tale, the more familiar did it sound to him. “That was you!” Melkor smiled at him. “That was me. I found the house, and a very agitated woman opened me. She cried out, when she saw the boy in my arms. ‘Mablung!’ Back then I didn’t memorise the name, but I remembered later. ‘What happened? Where did he rove about now?’

‘I found him in the mountains. His leg is broken and he was in the cold, there was a snowstorm.’ Of course I didn’t tell her that that was my fault. I handed the child over and walked away without turning back again. I didn’t tell anybody, although they would have liked that I rescued an Elf. I felt too... vulnerable. I had a strange feeling when I held you in my arms. Maybe I knew even then that you were something special.”

“What a pity, I can’t remember anything. I only remember that I fell and that it turned cold. Then the feeling of being carried, warmth around me. I only woke when the healer set my leg. My mother told me that a Maia had saved me, she hadn’t recognised you.” Mablung smiled pensively. “How long do you know that I was that boy?” “I guessed since I knew your name.”

Melkor fell silent for a while, then he said: “I’m glad that you followed me. My love for you is everything that I have left. I couldn’t bear to lose you again.” Mablung’s heart warmed, it made him so happy that Melkor said that. “Why did you run?”, he asked gently. _I panicked._ Melkor looked into the fire. _I didn’t want, I still don’t want, to lose you, but I fear, too, to come too close to you._ Mablung nodded slowly.

‘Why?’, he thought but hesitated to say it out loud. Meldor had warned him urgently to ask Melkor about Mandos. Lost in thought he reached for a log, that had slid to the fringe of the fire, to push it deeper. Melkor made a noise between scream and whimper, his melody a panicked discord. When Mablung looked at him, his eyes were wide and dark. He tried to recoil but his sore muscles didn’t let him.

“Melkor, what’s wrong?” _Please! Please don’t!,_ was everything he got out of him for a long while. Mablung withdrew to the other side of the fire and cried. Because Melkor's fear ripped his heard into pieces. Because he couldn’t help his beloved. Because he didn’t even know what he had done wrong.

 

_Melkor opened his eyes when the door to his cell was unlocked. His eyes needed a moment to get used to the light of the torch and show him a clear image. He gasped when he recognised the elf who stood in the doorframe. Mablung had come! He had come back, as he had promised in their dreams. The elf walked around him and opened his chains. Melkor moaned, when pain shot through his limbs, but it was worth it._

_“Mablung”, he whispered sobbing. “You came, I’m so glad...” Hope filled his heart. That Mablung was here must mean, that the Valar... He couldn’t even cry out, so shocked was he, when Mablung slapped his face. “Do you really think, I’m here to help you?”, the elf sneered. “No, Morgoth. I will make you suffer for what you did to me.” Melkor shivered when he saw the hatred in his eyes. Morgoth... he had never called him that before._

_He closed his eyes, he’d rather imagine that it was Namo. Had the dreams been just delusion? He didn’t want to believe it. “Look at me, Morgoth.” He screamed and hurried to open his eyes when fire burned his skin. “Better.” Mablung smiled wickedly and took the torch from his belly. “You won’t look away, Morgoth. Let’s see if you can take what you forced me to bear.”_

Melkors breath was laboured when he finally became aware of his surroundings again. Hot daggers seemed to stick in his back. He could have screamed with pain but he didn’t want to startle Mablung even more. Mablung... he heard him cry and felt his pain. What did he think was the cause for his sudden fear? When he had touched the log... Melkor shivered. _Mablung._ He didn’t want to talk about it, but to feel Mablungs pain was worse than his own.

Mablung lifted his head, his eyes were rimmed red. _There’s something you need to know, but... it isn’t easy for me._ “Take your time”, Mablung answered hoarsely. Melkor looked down on his hands, caressed the scars around his wrists, where the shackles had chafed his skin. “I was tortured”, he whispered almost unhearable. Speaking was easier than using Valarin. Valarin would only make the memories more immediate.

“I think, you already figured that out. Namo beat me and... and raped me. He wanted me to know what I did to you, to all the slaves. I was only able to bear it because I imagined what you would do, now that you were free and how it would be, if I could see you again. I imagined begging your forgiveness and that you granted it to me, how it would be, to be with you. Then Irmo gave us these dreams and that was so much better.

I... was never completely sure if they were real, but I wished they were, because they showed what I longed for. Only because of that I could bear it so long. But Namo wanted to break me completely and when I had only the love for you left to cling to, Namo took that away, too.” Melkor told with choking voice how his brother had come to him, wearing Mablung’s shape – again and again. “I thought then, that Irmo had made common cause with Namo and only given me hope to hurt me worse.

If I had been able to think clearly, I would have maybe realised that it wasn’t you, but my body was weak and ill, I was feverish and often not sure if I was awake or sleeping. And back in Angband I was so sure that you must hate me and are only very good at hiding your hatred. It was easy to convince me that you hate me. When I saw you here, I was confused, before I realised the truth.

But I couldn’t believe you, when you spoke of love. I’m still frightened that all this is only a dream, a trick to wound me even more. Every time you talk to me, every time you reach out for me, I have to think of what Namo did to me in your shape. I need you, Mablung, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to bear your touch without fear.

 

Mablung was horrified. The monstrosity of what Namo had done! How dare he use _him_ like this? Melkor cried again, his sobs hoarse and agonised. Mablung wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms, but he knew now why he mustn’t to it. “I never hated you”, he said gently. “And nothing could ever make me do it.” _I believe you, but..._ “I know. I have my own shadows.” Mablung left it at the hint, he wasn’t sure if it would make it better or worse, if he told him that dark rooms still made him feel as if Sauron stood behind him.

Instead he voiced his thoughts of this morning: “Let me be your slave.” “What?” Melkor was so staggered, that his tears dried, he stared at him. “You fear me because you think, I can do to you whatever I please. Let us change the power balance a little to your favour. It isn’t as if I would give up my freedom, only that you’ll have the power over what we do. Order me to touch you or not. Order me to speak or stay silent. If you can be sure, that I will do what you want, you wouldn’t fear me, would you... herdir?”

Mablung had rarely dared to dream of Melkor as anything other than his Master, anyway. He couldn’t have imagined Melkor changing as much as he had. It wasn’t difficult to offer him this. Melkor gulped. “Don’t call me that, Mablung, please. It wouldn’t be right to do that. You aren’t my slave, you should have never been. I’m grateful for your offer, it shows me again what a kind man you are, but we can’t.”

“Why?” _Because the notion is tempting. I once enjoyed it very much to have you at my feet. It should never be like that again. I have to manage otherwise._ “We.” Mablung stretched out his hand but didn’t touch him. “You are no longer alone. You won’t be alone ever again.” Melkor put his hand in Mablung’s after hesitating for a moment and closed his fingers around Mablung’s wrist. _You are the best that ever happened to me. Your love means everything to me._


	61. Chapter Sixty

Mablung rode beside the cart Melkor lay on, wrapped in blankets. Meldor had travelled on the cart and spread an ointment on Melkor’s back that dulled the pain. Melkor slept, exhausted from a night without sleep. Mablung hadn’t slept much himself, he had been too much in shock. Namo... one shouldn’t think like that of a Vala, but he almost hated him.

“Has he told you, why he tried to leave?”, Meldor asked suddenly. “He thought it would be easier to part now, before the Valar come for him.” Mablung gulped. “And he told me of... of Mandos.” “Really?” Meldor looked surprised. Mablung nodded. “I know now why he fears me so much. I...” Tears came to his eyes. “It’s so terrible." “You love him very much.” It wasn’t a question, but Mablung answered anyway. “I do, I always did... well, not always but for so long that it feels like always to me.”

Mablung looked into Melkor’s face that was even in sleep not completely relaxed. “I wish he could be as relaxed around me as around you, but I know the reason of his fear now. What the Valar did to him...” Mablung closed his eyes tightly. “I’m glad that he trusts you, Meldor.” He had sometimes been jealous of the healer, but now that he knew what Melkor’s special fear of him had caused, he couldn’t feel like that any longer. “It’s good that I’m not the only one who wants to help him.”

“I’m a healer and he is under my protection, but... he is my friend, too.” Meldor smiled wryly. “I can’t hate him anymore, I haven't in a long time. Was he, as it is told? You must have had a reason for falling in love with him.” Mablung bit his lip. “Oh, he was exactly as it is told in the stories and songs. Stern, cruel, merciless. But he was so much more. His tempers were volatile. Sometimes he was kind and in the next moment, he became angry, without any reason I could discern. I never knew if it was my fault.

The first few years that I served him were terrible. I was a thing for him, nothing more. I desperately tried to please him but it seemed never to be enough. Then he lent me to Sauron – who almost killed me.” Mablung shuddered. “When I woke from unconsciousness, everything was different. He didn’t even touch me for the first weeks after... It happened. I was allowed to sleep in his bed every night, he had never allowed that before, but he didn’t use me. I didn’t understand that.

I was only a slave, he didn’t need to be considerate of me. That was, when I saw that this hard, cruel man, whom my life belong to, was capable of kindness and compassion. I told him that I liked mountains and when I felt better again, he brought me into the Ered Lindon. I loved him then, and this love was always real, not what they call slave sickness. I was appalled at first, that I had fallen in love with the enemy and hopeless because I believed to know that he would never love me back, but I couldn’t deny my feelings.

He was very lonely, I longed to ease this loneliness, but I couldn’t, I was his slave. If I had known that he reciprocated my feelings, I would have never left him, when he gave me my freedom. I would have chosen slavery instead of a freedom that felt so useless without him. I only realised later, too late, that to set me free and to give up everything he had fought for, was the biggest token of love he could have given me.”

“I wouldn’t have allowed you to throw your freedom away. I had made up my mind, I couldn’t have gone on as before, after I realised my love for you”, Melkor said softly. Mablung looked down at him, he hadn’t noticed him waking. “How do you feel? It isn’t far anymore.” "The ointment helps.” Melkor sounded tense, surely he was in more pain than he admitted. Mablung opened his mouth to protest, but Melkor was faster.

“No, melindo”, he whispered and paled when he realised that he had cut him short. “Forgive me, but what happened, had to happen. I couldn’t have won against the Valar, I had lost too much of my power. You couldn’t have helped me.” “I could have spoken for you.” But even as he said it, Mablung knew that was not true. He had been little more than a child in the measure of the elves of Aman, even more so in the eyes of the Valar.

But what was more important: he had been a slave for most of his life, he probably wouldn’t have dared to speak to the Valar, much less to contradict them. “You are right, but it feels as if I betrayed you and a part of me thinks that maybe you could have won.” Melkor shook his head. “You did the only right thing. Would you have really wanted me to win?” He had an ironic smile on his lips. Mablung felt himself blush.

“Honestly, I don’t know. When you fought with Fingolfin, I couldn’t decide what to wish for and so it would have been in this war.” Melkor reached out his hand and Mablung gripped it, he was amazed. It was the first time, Melkor touched him of his own accord. And he talked so much. It almost looked as if telling Mablung about Namo had lessened his fears. “I was fated to lose this war. It would have happened either way.”

“I always thought, you don’t believe in fate.” “Yes, well, I was shown differently.” Melkor pressed his fingers before he let his arm fall to his side. He looked tired. “Sleep a little, melindo.” Mablung noticed only now, that Melkor had called him that for the first time just now. Maybe it really got better. Meldor smiled at him, he seemed to see the change, too.

 

Mablung sat beside Melkor’s bed and told him the newest gossip from the kitchen. Melkor was grateful for the distraction. It had been two days since they had carried him to his room. Meldor had confined him to bed so his back wouldn’t get worse and he was bored. “So you believe that you had to lose?”, Mablung asked suddenly. Melkor couldn’t read from his melody what he felt. “I don’t have to believe, hína, I know it”, he answered gently.

He didn’t understand why, but since he had told Mablung about Namo, it was easier to talk to him. It was, as if he had only now understood that the Mablung, who sat here at his side, was the real one. Mablung huffed. “Don’t call me that, it sounds condescending. And how do you want to know? I thought, Namo was the one who knows it all?” Melkor laughed surprised, but then said nervously: “You shouldn’t talk like that.” He was almost sure that someone watched him.

“I talk about him as I want.” Mablung’s eyes became fierce, but Melkor felt that his anger wasn’t directed at him. “I owe him nothing, to the contrary. But, why are you so sure?” “Well, I _was_ there when Ea was made.” Melkor winked at him. A part of him was appalled and frightened because he talked like this, but he banished the thought. He loved Mablung, now that he had understood, that he couldn’t run away, he would do everything to make the time they had count. “I only refused to believe for a very long time that you can’t change certain things.”

“Do you believe that what they did to you was destined? That it was just?” The only thing that showed Mablung’s agitation, where his clenched fists, but Melkor could feel it. “Do you want to deny that I deserved it?” Melkor’s lips quivered when he tried to smile, he knew that nothing could wipe out his guilt. “I think that no one deserves to be treated like that.” _You only say so because you love me._ “Maybe.” Mablung tilted his head. “But I believe, no, I know it, that I couldn’t wish even Sauron to be tortured like that.”

Mablung looked at his hands. “I think, punishment shouldn’t leave a lasting injury.” “You are so very kind, Mablung.” Melkor gathered all his courage and laid his hand on Mablung’s knee, his heart raced. “It doesn’t make me fear Namo less, but yes, I do believe that he can fight fate no more than I. I don’t say that he didn’t like to torture me, but it doesn’t change the fact that it was just.” Malbung shook his head. “And you don’t hate him for it?”

“No”, Melkor answered and surprised himself with it. He had been occupied with his pain and recovery for so long that he hadn’t thought about it, but no, he didn’t hate Namo. Not him and not his other siblings – not anymore. _It’s not as it was the first time, when I felt so misunderstood. This time, they had every right to fight me. I did so many terrible things._ “But he used _me_ to hurt you. He had no right to do that!”

_No he didn’t,_ Melkor admitted. _But it happened._ Mablung gulped and looked at him with gentle eyes. “I’m glad that you told me. It hurts, but I had to know. I will prove to you that I’m not as he made you believe. It’s easier for you to talk to me now, isn’t it?” Melkor nodded, it was easier to fight his fear, because Mablung knew what he feared. And he would fight it, he would make Mablung happy for the time they could be together.

 

They had eaten dinner together, Mablung didn’t want to part from him even for a short time. He only left him to sleep and Melkor was aware that he would have liked to stay even for that. “I’ll take the dishes to the kitchen. Good night, Melkor.” He blew him a kiss. Melkor licked his lips, if he didn’t ask now, it would be too late for today. _Do you want to stay for the night?_ Mablung stared at him open-mouthed.

“Say that again in Quenya, please”, he whispered with trembling voice. “I don’t know, if I understood you right.” “You did, Mablung.” Melkor closed his eyes and took a breath. “Stay here tonight.” “Are you sure?” Mablung put the dishes down and sat on the corner of the bed. “You know, I...” Melkor nodded with a smile. “I want you to, Mablung.” He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he didn’t tell him that. Mablung’s melody did an excited somersault and Melkor’s heart rejoiced. “I’ll be back right away, melindo.”

 

Mablung knew that he was stared at when he ran into the kitchen and got rid of his dishes. He also knew that he had a grin on his face. Before someone could talk to him and delay him, he was out of the room again. When he caught himself skipping up a stair and whistling he stopped for a moment and breathed deeply. ‘You act like a boy who never lay with a man', he berated himself. But he had butterflies in his stomach and was filled with so much happiness that he wanted to sing.

He almost stood in front of Melkor’s door when he realised that he couldn’t lie down beside him naked – before maybe, but now... He walked hurriedly to his room and rummaged around for comfortable, loose linen pants. He slept naked, normally, but he didn’t want to convey a false impression. Of course, he would have liked if to sleep in his bed lead to them doing other things, but even if it weren’t for Melkor’s hurt back, it was very unlikely. No, it was amazing enough, that he allowed him to sleep beside him and he couldn’t wish for more today.

 

Melkor heard the door being opened. He lay on his side, his back to the door and didn’t even try to turn his head to look at Mablung. “I’m back.” Mablung’s voice trembled a little, Melkor could hear his insecurity and was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. _Come to bed?_ , he asked softly. “Immediately.” He heard the rustle of clothes, then soft steps. Melkor inhaled deeply when Mablung came into his field of vision. He wore light trousers that reached to the middle of his calves, his chest was bare.

Melkor’s mouth became dry, he hadn’t seen anyone so undressed in a long time. Mablung had undone his braid, his hair fell in thick curls to his hip. A few of the hazel locks had turned to a warm gold in the summer sun. Soft grey eyes watched him uncertainly. Melkor had a lump in his throat. He loved this wonderful man so much. “Do you like what you see?” Mablung smiled wryly and made a movement with his arms as if he wanted to lace them behind his back, but then he realised what he was about to do and left them at his sides.

“You are beautiful”, Melkor murmured and decided to not have seen the motion. “You didn’t take them out?” Mablung looked down himself and touched one of the rings with his thumb. “No. Your name is on them and I like the weight.” He looked shyly at the floor. Melkor waited for a moment but Mablung stood as if rooted to the spot. “Won’t you... come to bed?”, he asked hesitantly. Mablung flinched startled, he had been lost in thoughts.

“Oh, yes...” Mablung lifted he blanket and lay down awkwardly, trying not to touch him. “Are you sure...”, he started but didn’t end the sentence when Melkor put an arm around him and pulled him closer. Mablung’s cautiousness made it easier for him to be bold. ‘Order me to touch you or not’, he had said. Melkor had refused his generous offer but he knew that Mablung would still be careful to not do something that would frighten him. They would go exactly as far as Melkor wanted.

This knowledge, underpinned with Mablung’s gentle music, felt good. Mablung trembled in his arm, they lay so close beside each other that Melkor could feel his breath on his skin. “Are you cold?”, he murmured. He remembered that Mablung felt cold easily. Mablung shook his head. “Just nervous.” He laughed sheepishly. “It’s... I don’t know... I feel like being in love for the first time. As if I don’t know what to do.” Melkor tilted his head to bridge the short gap between their bodies and kissed him with closed lips.

His heart raced as much with fear as with happiness. He had dreamed for so long to hold Mablung in his arms again. “Good night, nethben”, he said without thinking about the pet name. Mablung blinked, surprised by kiss and address, and smiled radiantly. “Good night, Melkor.” He reached over him and blew out the candle. They were silent for a while, only their breath was heard, then Mablung whispered into the darkness: “Can you kiss me again?”

Melkor didn’t answer, but his hand felt for his cheek and his thumb found his limps. Mablung nestled into the touch and the thumb was exchanged for a mouth. The kiss was shy and cautious and ended much too soon, but Mablung’s heart rejoiced. He was surprised but so happy that Melkor fought his fear that had seemed so overwhelming just a few days before. ‘Even small steps can bring us to the end, it’s only important to start going’, a voice whispered in Mablung’s head. Who had said that to him? He didn’t remember, but it sounded true.

 

Early in the morning, Melkor was woken by the pain in his back getting worse. He stifled a moan and tried to find a more comfortable position without waking Mablung. Melkor caressed a lock of hair from the sleeping elf’s face and let his fingertips rest on his neck. Mablung lay relaxed on his side, his knees halfway tucked  up, one of his arms lay on top of the blanket as if he had felt hot in the night. His forearm was tanned because he often wore shirts with short sleeves in summer – despite the strange looks he got.

Melkor’s smile vanished as he traced the pale, uneven scar on his skin. He was so ashamed of it. He realised that Mablung watched him from under half-closed lids. _I was so jealous of him. I’m so very sorry._ Melkor closed his eyes to hold back the tears. Mablung hummed a calming melody and caressed his hair – as he had done even back then. He had come back to him when he needed him the most. How could he ever have believed that he was able to live without this elf?

Mablung didn’t say anything until his tears dried and Melkor wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “I’m sorry. It was so much worse for you, you shouldn’t have to comfort me for my own stupidity.” Mablung shook his head smiling indulgently. “Jealous? That doesn’t sound like: Angry because you thought he had laid hands on your property.” Melkor couldn’t meet his gaze. “Because that’s not what it was”, he murmured almost inaudible.

“I thought you were in love with each other. I could have forgiven Sinthoras almost everything, but not that he should have your love – something I wished to have. Not, that I thought of it like that back then. I was very good at lying to myself and in doing so I almost killed you.” “I forgive you, Melkor.” Mablung kissed his forehead cautiously and although Melkor knew that already, he felt relieved to hear it spoken. It was almost as he had always dreamed it.

“Sometimes I wonder...” Mablung pulled his lower lip between his teeth. “If I had been braver, if I had dared to tell you what I feel for you, would that have changed anything?” “I wouldn’t have believed you.” Melkor caressed the scar. “No, it would have made it worse for you probably. You were brave enough, melindo. You came back to me, although Mo gave you the choice. You stayed with me on the day I fought Fingolfin, although Sinthoras offered you to go with him.

After Luthien and Beren stole the Silmaril, when I treated you so cruelly and finally told you to get lost, you asked me to take you home. Your deeds spoke a clear language, it wasn’t your fault that I told myself that it meant nothing.” It hurt to talk about it, but it wasn’t the pain of a wound that opened again and again, as it had been in Mandos. It was the pain of a needle that sewed a cut, pincers that pulled a thorn from inflamed flesh.

“I think, I wouldn’t have believed you even at the end, although I wished it so much.” “Do you believe me now?” Mablung laced their fingers together, his thumb caressed Melkor’s palm. “Yes”, Melkor answered and Mablung smiled happily. “Then it is not important what was before. Everything that matters is that we are together.”


	62. Chapter Sixty-One

_3021 T.A._

Mablung woke with his heart racing, cold sweat on his skin, it took him a moment to realise that it was Melkor’s nightmare, Melkor fear, that had woken him. Melkor lay curled up and trembling beside him. “Please, herdir, mercy!”, he whimpered with rough voice. Mablung shook his shoulder until he felt Melkor waking, then he got out of the bed and waited patiently, humming a soft melody.

He knew that he couldn’t bear his closeness after those nightmares – not until he had completely wakened. He had to remember first that Mablung wasn’t the cruel version of himself that Namo had made him believe in. Melkor tried very hard, although there were bad days now and then, when he needed to be alone and couldn’t bear him to be close and Mablung accepted that. He was always where Melkor needed him to be, but the nightmares where bad. He couldn’t touch him although he longed to comfort him.

 

Melkor’s heart raced. The dream stuck to him like cobwebs and let him realise only slowly that the elf, who stood beside his bed, wasn’t the same who visitited him in his dreams. “Mablung”, he whispered. He had clung to the name, the hope that Mablung loved him, the only thing he had left. He had dreamed of him, back then. Beautiful dreams, dreams that had felt so real that he sometimes wondered if the reality, he lived now, was only another dream.

“Mablung”, that meant fear, too, Namo had seen to that. Melkor was resolved to conquer this fear, for Mablung. It had cost them both an effort to get here, it would cost them even more until Melkor could treat him in a normal way again, but in moments like this, when Mablung was his only anchor, he knew that it was worth it. “Only a dream”, he told himself and started to cry. “Hold me, Mablung, please, hold me”, he sobbed, suddenly he longed for the closeness of his beloved – the confirmation that it had only been a dream.

Mablung didn’t let his surprise show, he just lay down beside him and rocked him, still humming. Melkor cried on his shoulder. It felt good to feel his arms around him and cry the pain away, to feel that Mablung was with him, with his whole soul. Melkor looked up into Mablun’s gentle, grey eyes. He would lose him again, he knew that, although Mablung told him something different, and it would break his heart. But as long as they were together, he would enjoy ever moment and memorise it for darker times.

“I’m so glad that you are here.” Mablung kissed his forehead, his melody fast and leaping with joy. “Are you alright?”, he asked frowning. “It was one of the worse ones.” Melkor’s breath hitched. “But yes, I’m alright now.” “Do you think, you can sleep again?” Melkor shook his head. After a nightmare, he lay awake the rest of the night. “I’m too agitated. But you can...” “No. I’ll stay awake with you and take care that you don’t brood too much. Let’s instead think about what to give Celedin and Rhosgwen for their marriage.”

Celedin had befriended Mablung since his first days in the kitchen and he was nice to Melkor. Because Melkor knew, that Mablung would stay with him, he forced himself to eat with the others and go now and then to the Hall of Fire. At the word _marriage_ he felt a stab. “What’s wrong?”, Mablung asked when he felt his anxiety. “I just wondered, if you want that too: celebrate a wedding, marry me...”

“You are the One for me, Melkor, I have no doubts about that. I want to be as close to you as I can, although I know what consequences that might have for me. Elwe and Melian were lost for all else when their souls joined, but that doesn’t frighten me. Do _you_ want it?” Mablung lowered his head, suddenly shy, as if he had only now realised again, who he talked to.

Melkor kissed his cheek. “I would want to, and I would do it immediately, if only I could.” Mablung’s music was confused. “What do you mean?” “Well”, Melkor laced his fingers with Mablung’s and looked down on their hands. He felt his cheeks turn red. “According to what I heard, you only consider a marriage complete, when it is consummated. Only then your fёar can unite? And I can’t do that, not yet.”

 

Mablung couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Is that the only reason.” “I think, it’s a good reason.” Mablung became serious again, he mustn’t laugh about it. “It _is_ a good reason and yes, normally the bond between the fёar is made that way. It is an old tradition, from a time when our ancestors still lived at Cuiviénen. For a long time, sex was something that only happened between husband and wife.

My father was appalled when he found out about Glorfindel and me, not only because we were both men, but because we obviously didn’t intend to marry. It is said that sex opens you in a way for your partner that isn’t possible otherwise, only then our fёar can unite. But...” Mablung looked searchingly into Melkor’s eyes. “You aren’t an elf. And if our fёa is the Music, then we can already hear each other. If you are willing, I’d like to try it?”

“Now?” Melkor blinked. “Why should we wait? I don’t need a big celebration, it is enough for me that we both know it – and for you too, I think.” “You are right.” Melkor smiled nervously. “How does an elf know that he found the One?” His music seemed to say: _What if it doesn’t work?_ “You still have doubts?” Mablung caressed his cheek. “This knowledge is... I _know_ it, I can’t explain it. Don’t you have this? The knowledge that you won’t love anyone else like this again?” Mablung held his breath. Melkor _was_ a Vala, love meant something else for him – and there still was Manwe.

“And now _you_ doubt?”, Melkor asked with a strange smile. “You are right. If _that_ is what one feels when one has found the One, then I do feel it. I love you.” He kissed him in a way he hadn’t kissed him since their parting. Mablung moaned when Melkor’s tongue pushed into his mouth, he gripped his shoulder, as much to have something to hold on to as to stop himself from going too far. Then he felt something touch his... soul.

It felt almost like the sensation when he talked with Mórhuin in his mind, only much deeper. Mablung shivered at the warm touch. He noticed vaguely that Melkor caressed his chest. Suddenly, it felt as if someone had opened a door in his mind. Mablung groaned into the kiss when he felt Melkor’s desire, so close and direct that it felt like his own. Melkor’s thumb moved one of his nipple rings and pleasure ran up his legs.

He couldn’t stop himself any longer and slid a hand between Melkor’s thighs. At first he shrank away, Mablung felt a quiet flicker of fear and stoped. Had he gone too far? Melkor broke the kiss, he breathed quickly. Their eyes met for a moment, then Melkor’s lips closed around Mablung’s nipple and Mablung threw his head back. They undressed each other hurriedly with clumsy hands.

Mablung still felt double pleasure. His own, when Melkor’s tongue played with the ring and Melkor’s, when he reached out and wrapped his hand around him. Mablung moaned, it was overwhelming. “Mablung”, Melkor gasped, their lips met again and then Mablung stopped knowing where he ended and Melkor started.

 

Mablung lay with his head on Melkor’s shoulder and waited for his beloved to catch his breath. The door was only ajar now. He felt Melkor much more clearly than before, but the emotions of his beloved had stopped to blend in with his own as it had at first. When Melkor had come, it had felt to him as if he had, too, so overwhelming had been Melkor’s feelings. But he was still hard.

“We did it, I think?”, Melkor slurred the words a little. Mablung smiled. “I think so, yes. How are you?” Melkor blinked a few times and yawned. “Fantastic”, he sighed, then he propped himself up and added with a frown: “It was great, but what about you?” “It’s been a pleasure.” Mablung didn’t let his condition show, he could bear it. Melkor lifted an eyebrow. “I can feel how aroused you are, Mablung. Don’t try to fool me.”

Mablung shivered under Melkor’s gaze, he hadn’t looked at him like this for a very long time. “No...”, he paused. He’d almost called him ‘herdir’. “I don’t”, he murmured embarrassed. “But... I don’t want you to think, you’d have to...” Melkor laughed softly and caressed his cheek. “It’s so unbelievable, Mablung. The way I can feel you now... it’s so much easier now.” Melkor slid his hand – his wonderfully warm, big hand – down his body. “Melkor”, Mablung moaned, when his fingers stroked his arousal. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” Melkor silenced him with a kiss.

 

Melkor nibbled at Mablung’s neck and breathed in his scent. His hand went further down and tucked gently on Mablung’s balls. His beloved writhed, moaning and spread his legs for him. “You like that, don’t you?” He wasn’t afraid, not now, maybe the fear would come back later, but he didn’t care at the moment. Now he was in control and that felt good. He enjoyed to touch him, to make him cry out with pleasure.

A memory of Mablung, tied to the bed and writhing in passion, came to his mind. At that time, after this terrible incident with Sauron, he had tried to learn what Mablung liked. He had wanted to forget it for much too long. Too much feelings of regret and self-loathing were entwined with the memories, but Mablung... Mablung didn’t hate him for it. Mablung didn’t want him trembling and whimpering in fear, as Namo had made him believe. Mablung wanted _him_. He led Mablung’s hand to his own arousal that was growing quickly again. The fear was far far away.

 

Meldor had arranged a room with own bath and a big bathtub for Melkor, because hot water helped his back. Melkor had never dared to dream to share this tub with his beloved. Mablung’s arms held him, Melkor’s head rested on his chest. “I’m so happy, Melkor”, Mablung said softly. It wasn’t as overwhelming as before to be joined to him. He understood now, why so many elves thought that sex should only happen with the One.

Although the sense of oneness wasn’t so immediate anymore that it was as if Melkor’s feelings were his own, he could still feel that their souls were joined. And of course he had always been able to hear him. “Me, too.” Melkor tilted his head a little and looked up to him. “Thank you for your patience, that you are so careful with me. It helps a lot, I know I can’t always show that, but...” “You showed me today.”

Mablung kissed his temple. “You are showing it right now. How could I be anything else than patient, when I know what was done to you. Were you afraid of me today?” “No. I was so close to you. I can still feel that we are bonded in a way I could never have dreamed off. I can’t promise that it will always be like this from now on, but I’m not afraid at the moment and I wasn’t then either.” Mablung was so happy, he could have embraced the whole world, instead he pulled Melkor closer and buried his face in his hair. They were together, they were bonded and that could no one take away from them, not even the Valar.

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung had the midday shift and waited for the main course to be ready when a scared looking servant burst into the kitchen and headed for him. “Mablung, you are needed. Please, follow me.” “Now? But I have to work.” Mablung searched Melkor’s gaze who was busy on the other side of the kitchen. “They will have to do without you. The King of the Greenwood has arrived and asks for you.” “Thranduil is here?”

The servant looked as if he had met a dragon and if Thranduil displayed his dislike for the Noldor as openly as he generally did, it wasn’t far from the truth. “Yes, he insists on seeing you. Will you come with me?” It almost sounded like a plea. Apparently Thranduil had already managed to leave a lasting impression. “I’m coming.” Mablung hurriedly organised a replacement, knowing very well that his King hated to be left waiting and followed the servant.

“How are relations with Greenwood?”, Mablung asked while they were on the way. He had been long on the road and he hadn’t had time to concern himself about it, Melkor had been more important. “He lets us feel distinctly that he thinks all Noldor to be murderers. He accepts envoys at his court, but only on invitation, Elrond has been his guest a few times, and aside from Prince Legolas, no elf from Greenwood ever came to Imladris. It’s difficult.”

The elf scrutinised him. “He’s here because of you, you are the first one, he asked about.” They stopped in front of the Hall of Fire. Mablung gave the servant a surprised look and walked in. Thranduil stood at one of the big windows that opened one of the narrow sides of the room to the mountains and looked out. He turned around with a smiled, when he heard Mablung come in. “Thranduil, how nice to see you.” Mablung shook his hand and let himself be kissed in a way that was almost too indecent for a greeting, but he was used to that.

“How long are you here?” His friend shrugged. “Two hours? Elrond delayed me. Can’t I visit a friend without it being made into a official visit?” Mablung shook his head. “Two hours and you already managed to throw half of Imladris into a state of panic. What did you tell the elf that brought me? He looked as if he thought, you would rip his head off, if he came back without me. Do you know that you are keeping me away from work?”

Thranduil huffed. “Unimportant. Can we go somewhere else? This is so public, they didn’t want to give me a simple guest room, because it doesn’t match my status.” He shook his head and Mablung had to smile. He acted so imperiously, that everyone expected that the best was only good enough for him, but then he didn’t care how he was accommodated. “Elrond won’t want to cause a disagreement by don’t hosting you appropriately. Come, we’ll go to my room.”

They left the Hall and followed the hallway until it opened into a stairwell. “You could have written, that you are here”, Thranduil said suddenly. “I only heard by coincidence. Don’t you know that I was worried for you?” “Worried?” Mablung looked surprised at him. “Why?” “It was war and I didn’t know where you are. Of course I worried!”

“Oh, tauren.” Mablung bumped his shoulder into him. “I travelled with Gildor’s people for a time, then I was drawn further south. I can tell you everything about it, if you want. I’m sorry that I didn’t notify you that I’m back, but... I had much to do here.” He opened his door and let Thranduil enter with a slight bow. “I missed the way you call me _tauren_. You are the only one who uses it as a term of endearment and not a title.”

Mablung answered Thranduil’s smile and offered him a seat. “Wine?” Thranduil nodded. When they both had a glass, Mablung asked: “Are you really only here to visit me?” “I wanted to see with my own eyes that you are well. I heard, that Morg...”, Thranduil stopped himself with a growl, “that Melkor is here. Are you happy, Mablung?” “Yes, tauren, I’m happy. I would have wished for our reunion to happen differently, but... it is as it is.” “If he hurts you, I’ll personally rip out his black heart!”, Thranduil growled.

“Tauren!” Mablung shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m happy to be with him, but he has been hurt badly, he’s so frightened.” “Serves him right”, Thranduil muttered angrily. “I’m sorry”, he said after a moment. “I know that you love him, although I can’t believe that he deserves you. I’ll promise to behave. Will you introduce me to your husband?” Mablung stared at him. “How...” Thranduil smiled triumphantly. “I know you very well, Mablung. It’s... not even something I could point to. I just know that you are married, although you don’t wear a ring.”

Mablung looked at his bare hands. “There wasn’t an opportunity. We didn’t make it public, that would be too much for Melkor, but yes, we are married.” “So, will you introduce us?”, Thranduil probed. Mablung hesitated and tried to find a way to refuse him in a diplomatic way. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Not, because I don’t trust you, but... Melkor isn’t well. It took me almost two years until he trusted me. I don’t want him to be afraid and your presence would frighten him. Please understand.”

Thranduil bowed his head. “As you wish. I hope, we’ll see each other a few times anyway, before I travel back.” “Of course. I’ll come whenever you wish, tauren. I heard that Legolas is a hero of the War of the Ring.” “I’m very proud of him... as proud as one can be of his son, despite him befriending a dwarf.” Thranduil shook his head helplessly. “I’m giving you the fault for his tolerance, Noldo.”

Mablung grinned. “Tolerance never hurt anyone. How is Greenwood? I heard the forest recovers, now that Sauron is gone.” “It’s getting better, yes, the trees heal slowly from the darkness. You could come with me and see it for yourself. I miss you, Mablung.” Thranduil laid a hand on his arm. “I miss you, too, Thranduil, very much and if it were only me, I wouldn’t have stayed here, but... Melkor isn’t allowed to leave Imladris and I’ll stay at his side. I can’t even leave him for a visit, tauren. If you want to see me, you’ll have to come here.”

Thranduil huffed in mock annoyance. “To a place full of Noldor... but I’ll do it for a friend. Tell me of your journeys.” Mablung was just trying to give Thranduil an understanding of his fascination of human languages, when a knock sounded on the door. The servant from before stood outside and looked nervously past Mablung. “The rooms for His Majesty are ready.” Mablung felt that Thranduil had come up behind him.

“Let’s look at those rooms. Will you come with me, Mablung? I have something for you.” Mablung was surprised. He had brought a present for him? “Why not.” Mablung indicated to Thranduil to go first and they followed the servant into the wing of the house, where Elrond’s family lived and the guest rooms for important guests lay. Glorfindel lived here, too, that’s why Mablung knew the way. A young elf, who looked surprised at Mablung, waited in Thranduil’s room.

“Are you finished unpacking, Mu... Geldir?” Mablung heard the slip of tongue and wondered at it because Thranduil usually knew the names of his servants. “Yes, aranen.” “Good. Bring me the wooden box and then leave me with Mablung.” Geldir bowed and vanished in the next room. “What did you bring for me?” Thranduil grinned at him. “You’ll see. Come, take a seat. I hope, I don’t delay you”, Thranduil said.

Mablung lifted his eyebrows. “As if you’d care. After you kept me from dishing up lunch, I’m at your service for the rest of the day.” “Don’t say that too loud, I might take you up on it.” Mablung wanted to respond playfully, but Geldir came back and he recognised the box he carried under his arm. “Oh.” Mablung waited until the servant put it down on the table and left the room, then he touched the age-dark wood and tarnished silver fittings.

He had had let the box made by a carpenter of his tribe, to keep his most important mementos of Melkor. When he had left Greenwood for the second time, he had left them behind and was glad, that he did. He wouldn’t have been able to keep them through his captivity. “Did you open it?” Even before Thranduil answered, he knew that he had. Thranduil wasn’t Linqil. “Of course. You know how curious I am. If you didn’t want me to see them, you shouldn’t have left them.”

Mablung opened the clasps and lifted the lid. The mithril still shone as it had when the shackles were new, it didn’t tarnish. Mablung took the collar and rubbed over Melkor’s name that was wrought into the metal. “Why did you keep them?”, Thranduil asked surprisingly gentle. He had a look in his eyes that Mablung couldn’t interpret. “Because they are among the few things that I had left of Melkor. Of course I could have had them melted down, but I didn’t want to forget. Sometimes...”

Mablung lowed his eyes, but he could tell Thranduil – Thranduil who had often kept watch for days at the grave of his wife. “Sometimes, when the pain became too hard to bear, I wore them and imagined him to be with me.” Thranduil patted his knee. “But now you have him back. I hope, you won’t need them.” His voice held a threat to Melkor. Yes, he would protect him if he came to the conviction that Melkor was hurting him.

Mablung shook his head. “He’s not like that anymore, tauren.” He wondered if that was true. _“Because the notion is tempting”_ , Melkor had said. Was he just afraid of doing it? But it still would have been different. He couldn’t tell Thranduil, of course, that pain aroused him. “He won’t hurt me, never. He loves me.” Thranduil nodded. “I believe you, because I can’t imagine that a Vala would marry an elf, if he didn’t mean it – even _he_ isn’t capable of that. How did you do it, Mablung?”

“Make him love me?” Mablung shrugged and put the collar back. “I don’t know. Maybe it was fate, but... I did, too, charm a King of Greenwood, who hates Noldor.” He winked at him and Thranduil laughed. “I’d argue that Melkor is a much tougher nut than me.” “Slightly. How long do you intend to stay, tauren?”

Thranduil shrugged. “I do have to discuss a few things with Elrond that are better settled personally. A few weeks, but I want to be home before summer is advanced too far. The autumn festival wants to be prepared. You are sure, that you can’t come with me? The children would be happy to see you. I’ll even invite your husband.” Mablung shook his head. “It’s not possible. It would frighten him to leave his known environment and the people he trusts and he isn’t as free as I would like him to be. It’s not over.”

Thranduil shook his head. “It would be cruel of the Valar to take him from you again. I can’t imagine that.” Mablung smiled sadly. “It isn’t only about me. We can only take things as they come. We’ll find out soon enough. Surely you know, that Elrond will sail in autumn. Thranduil nodded. “A shame. One of the few decent Noldor. But.. I can understand him. He has, after all, the surety that his heart waits on the other side of the sea.”

Mablung hugged Thranduil. He knew very well that wounds like this never healed completely, no matter how much time passed. Thranduil had loved his wife so much. “I’m happy for you, Mablung, you have to believe me. I hope for you that the Valar will be merciful.” “Thank you, Thranduil.” Mablung was touched, he knew how hard it had to be for him to put his hatred for Melkor aside.

 

~*~*~

 

“Well, Melkor, are you enjoying your freedom?” He stared at Namo, wanted to shrink back, but he couldn’t move. He knew that this wasn’t one of the normal nightmares. This was real. “When Elrond leaves Imladris to come to Aman, you will go with him”, Namo said. “There will be another trial, but don’t expect me to change my mind.” Namo gripped his hair. “You will get your punishment.” Melkor woke with a scream and looked into Mablung’s worried face.

“A nightmare?” Melkor nodded and sought refuge in the arms of his lover. It took a while until he found the words. “It was different this time. He said, I have to go back, when Elrond does, that there will be a trial.” Melkor didn’t doubt that his siblings would put him into Mandos again. He had squandered their mercy, this was... he didn’t know what it was. Mablung caressed his head soothingly. “I’ll go with you, melindo, you don’t have to face them alone. I will fight for us.”


	63. Chapter Sixty-Two

“How long have you been standing here?” Mablung embraced Melkor from behind and laid his cheek on his shoulder. Melkor hadn’t lain beside him, when he had woken. It was still early, the sun was just rising behind them, the ship rode the waves calmly. “I couldn’t sleep. I can't stopp worrying about what will happen when we reach Aman.” Melkor pointed ahead. “We passed Tol Eressea in the night. This coast is Aman. Your home, Mablung, you finally return home.”

“Home?” Mablung shook his head. “My home is where you are, nowhere else. Without you, all this matters nothing, I learned that in the time of your absence. I would have come back to you, even if that had meant that I had to be a slave again.” “Don’t, Mablung. Please don’t talk like that.” Melkor turned around and pulled him close. “Promise me, that you won’t make them angry. Don’t throw your life away for me. You will be happy, even when I’m not there.”

“You will always be there, I won’t allow them to part us!” ‘I wish, I could believe you. I wish, I could have as much confidence as you.’ Melkor sighed. He didn’t think that his beloved could do much for him. Namo hated him, that wouldn’t change. “Everything will be fine”, Mablung said, Melkor heard the despair in his voice. “Everything will be fine.” They stood silently, arms wrapped around each other, enjoying the closeness of eachother – maybe for the last time. Melkor was afraid for Mablung. His siblings wouldn’t take it well, if an elf treated them disrespectfully and Mablung was still a Noldo. He could be as proud and stubborn as they were said to be.

 

When the land came closer and the sun climbed higher, the others came to them. “Home”, Glorfindel said with a glow on his face. “I wonder if he is waiting for me.” Mablung forced himself to smile. _He_ was Legolas of Gondolin, Glorfindel’s heart. “You’ll see him again, Glorfindel, I’m sure of it.” Glorfindel’s looked at him and Melkor. “If I can do anything for you...” “Tell them what you saw, Glorfindel. Tell them, that he has changed.”

Mablung looked up at Melkor and saw the fear in his eyes, he was afraid, too. He was only an elf. How should he work up the courage to speak to the Powers? How could he face Namo, who he had seen for the last time, when he had exiled them? But he needed to or Melkor would be lost forever – he wouldn’t survive that. They withdrew a little when they sailed into the harbour – Mablung felt sick when he remembered all that blood that had been spilled here – to not be in the sailors’ way.

Mablung had learned a little form them on the journey, he had sailed when he had been a child and he had had fun to pass the time with it, but he wasn’t good enough to help now and he wanted to stay at Melkor’s side. Melkor’s gaze was trained on the shore where a few people stood waiting, holding a respectful distance to a dark haired person. “That’s Eonwe, he’s here because of me.” Melkor clung to his hand, seeking shelter.

“He won’t hurt you”, Mablung said calmer then he felt. “Not as long as I am at your side.” It seemed to take an eternity until the ship lay at the wharf and they could go ashore, but finally they stood on solid ground. After the weeks at sea, Mablung felt as if the land was moving. He swayed a little but tried to find a foothold, because Melkor felt the same way and wasn’t as stable with his cane. Mórhuin, still in his elf-form came to Melkor’s other side and supported him.

Eonwes steel-grey eyes were directed toward them, his face hard and tense. “You are expected, traitor. I’ll take you to Ilmaren, follow me.” “I hope, you won’t ride _that_ ”, Mórhuin said with a ungracious look at the horse that was intended for Melkor. “I will carry you.” Mablung felt Melkor tremble and realised that he couldn’t speak in Eonwe’s presence, not even to his friend. He shared a worried look with Mórhuin, who couldn’t help sighing relieved when he could change to his favourite shape after the time at sea. ‘Mount, herdir.’

Mablung helped Melkor on Mórhuin’s back. How should he survive that ride? It was far to Ilmaren, farther than Melkor’s back could take. Mablung mounted behind Melkor, despite Eonwe ignoring him. Obviously he wasn’t wanted – he didn’t care. They would learn soon that he didn’t leave Melkor. Glorfindel called after him, but he didn’t understand the words. He turned around and gave him a reassuring look. Whatever he wanted of him had to wait for later.

 

“You can’t go with him, elf.” Eonwe stopped his horse, when they had left Alqualonde, he didn’t even turn around while he spoke to him. He spoke Quenya in a way that Mablung hadn’t heard since his childhood, it was as if no time had passed here. “You will have opportunity to testify at the trial, not today.” “I won’t leave him!” Mablung lifted his chin. Eonwe finally deighned to look at him and Mablung’s hair stood on end. The slave he had been, wanted to fall to his knees in front of this being, but he mustn’t, not under any circumstances.

“You’ll get off that horse and go away. You will be notified when the day of the trial is set.” Eonwe’s voice was calm, but Mablung felt his anger. Mablung wanted to snap back, when Melkor laid his hand on his thigh. “Do as he says. Don’t infuriate them already beforehand.” “I promised to stay with you. I won’t fail you.” Melkor surprised him with a passionate kiss. “I love you, Mablung, forever.” He sobbed, then he pushed him off the horse.

Mablung fell hard on his back. “Forget me, Mablung, it is better for you”, Melkor whispered with tears in his eyes and urged Mórhuin on. Mablung was frozen with horror for a moment, he felt their bond vanish, as if it had never been. Had Melkor done this? “NO! Melkor! Don’t do that.” He scrambled up and ran after the horses. Tears clouded his sight, he stumbled over a stone and fell down, chafing hands and knees. “Melkor...” Mablung started to cry, there was a hole in his heart were Melkor had been.

 

“You haven’t changed at all, I see, pushing away the people you mean something to", Eonwe said snidely. Melkor didn’t answer. He still saw the hurt in Mablung’s eyes... Melkor shuddered. Again he had hurt someone he loved. ‘It’s better this way’, he told himself. ‘He needs to be able to forget me. I should have never allowed him to come so close, but I was so happy with him.’ Melkor wiped the tears from his cheeks. He already missed him, but where he had to go, Mablung couldn’t follow him.

They travelled faster than should be possible, but they were in Aman, distance meant nothing to Ainur here. Faster than Melkor liked they reached Ilmaren’s gates. Melkor felt a little relieved that he wasn’t led to the Mahanaxar, at least this would happen behind closed doors. Awkwardly he slid from Mórhuin’s back. ‘Find Mablung’, he asked him, but when Mórhuin wanted to leave, Eonwe said: “You’ll stay. There will be a trial for you, too.”

Melkor closed his eyes. ‘Forgive me, I should never have dragged you into this, my friend.’ ‘No, it was my own decision.’ Mórhuin nudged him with his soft nose, Melkor followed Eonwe inside. He looked at the floor, for the first time he was glad, that he could no longer hear the Music. He knew, that he was looked at but at least he hadn’t to hear what they thought of him. Fourteen chairs stood in the round room, Eonwe led him to, the Maia took his place behind Manwe’s seat.

Melkor didn’t dare to look at them, he knelt, clutching his cane for support, and waited. His hands trembled. He felt defenceless without Mablung. Not everyone had been happy about his presence in Imladris, but Mablung or Meldor had always been there to protect him. He had robbed himself of this protection, he had pushed his husband away! He deserved what waited for him.

 

“I thought, Mablung would be with him”, Mo murmured worriedly. When he had heard, that the elf was on the ship, he had felt a deep relief. It could only be good news that they were together. It hurt to see Melkor like this – again. Had he really believed that anything would change? Aule touched his mind gently and asked for entry. ‘Herdir?’ ‘Find that elf, Mormirion, I need to talk to him.’ Mo touched his Vala’s shoulder, who sat in front of him and left.

Ulmo glanced at Aule with worried face. They had hoped that the elf would come with Melkor. Aule nodded. ‘Later’, he said to him, then he turned his attention back o Melkor. “The trial will be in two weeks until then you will stay in Mandos”, Manwe was just saying. Melkor’s head flew up, panic in his eyes. “No! Please, herdir, don’t send me back there! Please, I beg you!”

Tears ran down his face. Aule pitied him, but he couldn’t help him, not now. At Namo’s word he brought Angainor and shackled Melkor, he hoped for the last time. Melkor seemed to consist only of fear, he trembled so much that the chain rattled. “Hope, brother”, Aule tried to calm him. “Ulmo and I will help you. It isn’t over yet.”

 

Mo found Mablung lying curled up and crying on the road, dried blood stained his hands. “He’s gone and he won’t come back”, he whispered when Mo tried to help him up. “What happened?”, he asked softly. Mablung looked at him with empty eyes, but didn’t answer. Mo wondered if he recognised him, if he even saw him. He lifted him from the floor and carried him to the forge. “Aule wants to see you”, he explained. “But before that we need to tidy you up.”

“Nothing will ever be right again”, Mablung said feebly. “He is gone. I feel so empty, as if a part of me has been ripped out. It is hopeless – and he knew it, he knew the whole time. I was such an idiot.” “You aren’t an idiot, Mablung, you had hope... You should still hope.” “I feel so weak, now that he is gone, herdir.”

“You are the only one who can save him.” Mo put him on his feet when he reached his rooms und looked into his eyes. “Fight for him, Mablung. Be strong and fight for him as no one else can. And you don’t have to call me ‘herdir’. Don’t you remember me?” Mablung’s eyes went wide and Mo almost expected him to jerk back. “Mo?”, he asked uncertainly. “Yes.” Mo bowed. “Mo!” Mablung threw his arms around his neck and cried on his shoulder. Mo held him until his tears dried.

“It isn’t hopeless, Mablung. As long as you fight, there is hope. Aule and Ulmo want to support a pardon for Melkor, but you have to be strong for it to be successful.” Mablung looked surprised at him. “Aule and Ulmo? I’d never have guessed that they would look favourable on a pardon. They always were against him.” Mo shrugged. “Opinions change. They aren’t pleased of the way Namo treated Melkor. What do you say? Will you help them.”

A slow smile came to Mablung’s lips. “Of course. You are right. I can’t give him up. Where is Aule, I should talk with him.” Mo nodded and patted his shoulder. “That sounds much better, Mablung.” “Indeed.” Aule stood in the doorframe. “Please, Mablung, follow me. We have a lot to talk about. You should come, too, Mo.” ‘He seems to trust you.’ “As you wish, Master.” ‘I’m a little surprised myself.’

_A little_ was in fact an understatement. Sure, he and Mablung had found to something like friendship in Angband, but that had been long ago, things had been much different then. Mablung seemed to take his presence here for granted, but maybe that were the circumstances. He didn’t doubt that Mablung was overtaken by the events.

 

“Where are we going?” Mablung had to walk fast to keep up to the two Ainur. “Couldn’t we have discussed this at Mo’s place?” Mo! It was good that he was here. It meant, there could be forgiveness and besides... he hadn’t seen him since Angband, but he felt save in his presence. His music was so familiar to him, unlike what he felt from Aule, the Vala was so much... More. Aule shook his head. “Ulmo feels most comfortable in water, so I thought we talk while having a bath. If that doesn’t bother you.”

“Why should it? I haven’t been completely clean in a month.” The opportunities to wash with freshwater were scarce on a ship. “I think, my Master alludes to my presence.” Mo smiled when Mablung laughed. “I don’t think that there is a part of my body that Mo isn’t intimate with, herdir”, he said dryly. “And I don’t bear a grudge against him, if that is what you fear. He was a decent Master, I owe him much. Does that surprise you?”

“I didn’t think that your readiness to forgive Melkor does include his people – and you talk very openly about what happened to you.” “I learned a long time ago to accept the past as what it is – a part, an important part, of my life. As much as I would like to forget some things, without them I wouldn’t be the person I am. I love Melkor, but that isn’t the reason why I forgave Mo. If he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have survived. Besides”, Mablung winked at Mo, “I wasn’t completely disinclined. He wasn’t cruel, not like some others.”

“And would you forgive these others as readily?” Aule watched him intently. “I don’t know.” Mablung hesitated. Could he forgive Sauron? He shook his head. “I can’t say, but...” He thought of Sharû, what he had told him about his father. “I don’t even know the names of most of the orcs who had me. How can I judge someone I don’t know?” Aule looked at Mo with lifted eyebrows. ‘I told you that he is special.’ ‘He’s wise. Wiser than many of us, in a way.’

They had reached the baths and left their clothes in the antechamber. Mablung felt Aule's eyes on his back, the scars had faded, but they were still visible. “Has Melkor done this?”, the Vala finally asked. “Among others.” Mablung wasn’t used to get so much attention, his shoulders tensed. Better to get used to it, he would have to talk in front of much more people very soon.

He glanced at Mo from the corner of his eye. How much had he told Aule of how he had treated his slaves? “Melkor wasn’t my only Master.” Mablung reached over his shoulder and felt the scars like thin cords under his skin. “It’s... not that I don’t care, but I don’t think much about them. I tend to forget that they are there until someone reminds me. They are a part of me.”

 

Ulmo already waited for them, his green-blue hair lay like seaweed on the water. “I don’t remember inviting him”, he muttered with a sharp look at Mo. Aule waved he comment away. “It concerns him too and Mablung trusts him.” Ulmo stood up. “You are putting him in danger. Do you think Namo’s wrath will spare him if he speaks for Melkor?”

“I want to be here”, Mo intervened. He hated it when they talked about him as if he weren’t there. “In public, you won’t be able to fight for Melkor as you might want. I don’t want Mablung to have to bear this alone.” Their gazes wandered to the elf, he was pale and breathed heavily. “Mablung!” Mo gripped his elbow, fearing that he would lose consciousness. “What’s wrong, Mablung?”

Mablung noticed their conversation only in passing. His senses were too occupied with handling the presence of the two Valar. He had been able to handle Aule alone, but both of them... His mind vibrated like a struck string. Mo was the only familiar thing in this storm of music and he clung to it, tried to push the storm into the background. He trembled with exertion when he finally managed it. “I’m fine.” He sat with Mo’s help. “Really, I’m fine. It was just a little much for me.”

“Are we so scary?” Ulmo seemed to be confused by his reaction. “No, just... awe-inspiring.” Mablung decided not to tell them that he could feel them. Somehow... he wanted to keep that to himself for the time being. “I’m just a little elf. I’m not used to be in the presence of the Powers.” “Melkor’s heart is yours”, Ulmo stated. “At least, that is what Mormirion says.” “We are married”, Mablung answered and lifted his chin unconsciously. He wouldn’t apologize for it.

Ulmo smiled grimly. “And how sure are you, that he means it?” “I know since Angband’s fall that he means it.” Mablung swallowed hard. The memory of how he had lain in the wood and cried for Melkor still hurt – especially now, that he couldn’t feel Melkor. “He freed me and gave me a letter. He couldn’t say that he loved me, but he wrote it. Why should he have done that, if he hadn’t meant it?” Mablung fought against the impulse to just say: “I just know.” Ulmo wanted logical reasons, but...

“He married me and... elves aren’t mistaken about who is the One for them.” “I don’t think, that it is Melkor’s love that is at issue”, Aule said soothingly. “We agreed that Namo shouldn't be allowed to treat Melkor like he did before.” Ulmo nodded. “But I would feel better if we could be sure that he won’t betray us again.” “He won’t”, Mablung answered. “He... he hasn’t the strength left to do so, even if he wanted – and I don’t think that he wants. The way he talks - if he talks at all - he really regrets that he ever opposed you. I beg you, help him.” He would have knelt, if the water hadn’t been too deep.

“We will do what we can. How far are you prepared to go, to save Melkor?” “I would do everything for him”, Mablung answered with all conviction. “I would die for him. My life means nothing without him. I will fight. For his life, his freedom, our love.” “Mablung, he will never be completely free again.” Aule lifted his hand, when Mablung wanted to reply heatedly. “Let me finish. He may have repented, or maybe not, but we won’t trust him blindly again, too much happened for that. Ulmo and I are of the opinion that he suffered enough, that’s why we want to help you and him.

Namo hates Melkor, you won’t be able to change his mind. You can only hope that Manwe eases his sentence. Manwe loves his brother, but he won’t make the mistake to let his feelings decide again. When he took Melkor from Mandos and brought him to Imladris, he decided that alone, without telling anyone. He pitied Melkor. If he had had to make this decision at a council, he wouldn’t have done it. He won’t allow himself to alter Namo’s judgement for his own sake, you have to convince him to do it for you.

If you convince a few of our siblings, too, that is good, but not crucial. Concentrate on Manwe, make him see what he takes from you, if he imprisons Melkor in Mandos.” Mablung gulped, but he nodded. He would find a way somehow. “Melkor, is he... there now.” “Yes.” Aule gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry.”

Mablung closed his eyes and felt Mo’s hand on his arm. He laid his own hand on top of it and clung to it. “That’s what he feared the most. You can’t imagine what it means for him.” The Valar looked abashed and if he read them right, they didn’t like it either. Mablung’s heart hurt and he was afraid, but he was so relieved that at least these two Valar were on his side – and Mo was here.

 

“If you want, I can find a room for you”, Mo said on the way back to his rooms. “Or do you already have a place to stay?” Mablung shook his head. “My parents used to live in Tirion, but I don’t think that I want to face them right now. Mo, I don’t want to be alone.” “You aren’t alone.” Mo laid his arm around his shoulders. “You can stay with me for now, but I don’t have a guestroom, I don’t live here permanently. You need a proper bed.”

Mo opened the door and led them in. “Where are you living normally?” Mablung asked and rummaged around his bag until he found his brush. He started to comb his damp hair. “In the mines. After I grovelled enough, the Valar allowed me to leave Valinor.” Mo smiled wryly. “I’m now doing something like you did when we met, just not so random. I can feel were something worth to dig out is buried.” “And they feed you better.” Mablung jabbed his forefinger between his ribs and laughed at Mo’s nervous gaze. He knew this reaction.

“Listen, Mo.” He had to make something clear. “What happened, happened, it is a part of my life, nothing more, nothing less. You are my friend, you offered me your friendship when your equals did see me as nothing more than a thing, I didn’t forget this. Friends forgive each other and I don’t bear a grudge against you – and when I say these things, I don’t do it to make you feel guilty.”

Mo nodded with a smile. “I’ll try to remember. It’s only that it is much too easy for me to make myself feel guilty. Your friendship means a lot to me, Mablung.” Mablung saw tears in his eyes, Mo turned away. “I’ll get you something to eat, I suppose you won’t want to eat in the dining hall, and ask for a room for you.” “Thank you, Mo.” He really didn’t want to meet other people right now, all these looks on him... it would be bad enough to be exposed to them at the trial.

“You knew, didn’t you? That I love Melkor.” Mo turned around again and smiled at him. “Yes, I knew. Sinthoras knew, too. You weren’t very good at hiding your feelings, but no one paid attention to a slave. We knew, too, that Melkor felt something for you, but...” He shook his head. “I hoped so much that you two would make it. I’m glad that you forgave him.” “How couldn’t I?” Mablung shrugged. “I love him. I knew, I mustn't hate him or I wouldn't be able to serve him, instead I fell in love with him.”

When Mo had left, he sat on the couch and hid his face behind his hands. It was too much. How should a little, unimportant elf like him convince the Valar to pardon Melkor? What reason should they have to believe him? And Melkor was gone, he pressed his fist to his heart as if it could lessen the pain there. He started when the door was opened. It wasn’t Mo, Mablung tensed. What did this elf want? The face of the elf lit up with a smile. “Mo said that you are here, Mablung. Do you remember me?”

Mablung looked closer at him. The fair, short hair was tousled, as if he had the habit to run his hands through it, his eyes were blue. If his Quenya hadn’t sounded like Noldo he would have taken him for a Sinda. And there was something else in his accent... It took him a moment to bring his memory of the boy, he had known in Angband, in line with this broad-shouldered elf. “Laiglas?”, he asked. “Yes. Mo met me outside and thought that you would like the company of someone who doesn’t hate Melkor.” Laiglas sat down next to him.

“Mo and I are a couple”, he added when he saw Mablung’s confused face. “Oh?” Mablung smiled at him. “I’m happy for you.” Mo deserved to have someone who loved him. “You aren’t cross with me, are you?” Laiglas looked shyly to the floor. “Why would I?” “Well. You loved Melkor and he was so nice to me, I almost took him away from you. I can’t imagine how this was for you.” Mablung shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault that he chose you. You had no more choice in this than I. No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Fortunately.” Laiglas sighed and grasped Mablung’s hand. “I hope you can convince them.” “Laiglas?” Mablung ran his hands through his hair. “Can we talk about something else? Anything, just not that?” Laiglas gave him a worried look, but he nodded. “How was the journey?” “Relaxed. I sailed a lot when I was a child and the sailors did me the favour of showing me a few tricks. It was fun, I think, I’d like to do it again. Sailing, I mean, not cross the sea. How did you meet Mo?” “He bought apples.” And Laiglas started to tell, of him and his father, of Mo and a lot of other things.

Mablung reclined and enjoyed to just listen and not have to think about what the next day would bring. Mo returned shortly and they sat at the dinner table, but Laiglas didn’t let himself be interrupted. “And then we heard that you and Melkor were together on the ship and we hoped that you had found each other”, he ended. “We have.” Mablung smiled. “I waited so long for him and I don’t intend to let him go.”

Mo smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear you talk like this. I admit, I was a little worried, that you... well, you have been a slave for a long time.” “And I have been free much longer.” Mablung shook his head. “It won’t be easy for me to talk to the Valar, but I will do it for Melkor.” “Why were you so distraught when you met Ulmo? You looked as if you would faint any moment and I don’t believe you that it was awe.”

Mablung stalled his answer by drinking from his glass. He could tell Mo, couldn’t he? “I can hear you”, he answered slowly. “The Ainur, I mean. It’s...” _Being-Myself_ , Melkro had called it, Mablung tried to sing the word. Another thought crossed his mind... “What did they do to Mórhuin?” He was a little ashamed that he had forgotten about his friend, but in his head was only place for Melkor right now.

“What?” Mo stared at him as if he had seen a ghost. “Mórhuin? Orome has taken him into his custody, I don’t believe that he will harm him. You can hear the Music – and you speak Valarin?” Mablung could hear the disbelieve in his voice. “Yes. Melkor taught me Valarin, in Angband. The other thing... I don’t know why. It started in Angband, too.” “ _Melkor_ taught you Valarin?” Mo rubbed his forehead and shook himself like a wet dog. “I’ll best stop wondering. _How well do you speak it? Well enough to have a conversation?_ ”

Mablung nodded. _“Yes. I spoke Valarin with Mórhuin.”_ Mo looked fascinated at him. “That’s fantastic, you sound like one of us.” He grinned. “Are you _sure_ that you are an elf?” “Completely sure.” “May I suggest something, Mablung? If you feel up to it, you should speak Valarin at the trial.” Mablung grimaced. “I don’t know if that is a good idea.”

“It is, believe me. For most of us, including the Valar, elven-love is something that is not easy to understand. We don’t love that way, normally. If you explain it to them in their own language, it will touch them much closer. You have to make Manwe forget everything he knows about Melkor and listen to his heart. This is a certain way to do it.” Mablung still wasn’t convinced. “But I’m not a singer. I don’t have the training.”

“You have a nice voice and you fluently speak a language that elves supposedly can’t learn. Only Maglor did manage that until now and I might be biased but I think you speak it better than him. Have faith in yourself.” “Listen to him”, Laiglas said. “I know that look. He will keep on and on until you concede.” “If you think, it’s best?” Mo seemed so excited by his abilities, hopefully the Valar would think so too.

“I think, we shouldn’t tell anyone”, Mo continued. “ Not even my Master and Ulmo. You should surprise them all.” Mablung nodded, he preferred that anyway. He didn’t want to explain, in what circumstances he had heard the Music for the first time, that wasn’t a memory he liked to revisit. “By the way: Master? So you belong to Aule again?” Mo nodded. “But that doesn’t mean that Melkor is no longer my friend. Then... I had to leave Aule, but... you know how I later felt about slavery. I stopped being happy in Angband long before it fell.”

Mablung nodded and squeezed Mo’s hand. “I know. I remember.” He didn’t say more, he felt Mo’s unease and Laiglas sat beside him. “Mablung, there is something else.” Mo spoke slowly, he wasn’t sure if he should say anything. “What is it?” Mablung’s heart beat faster. “Something bad?” “No! No, it’s only... I met Liriel earlier, when I went for food. She somehow heard, who you are. I could barely stop her from coming with me right away, but I thought, this is all so much for you. She would be very happy to see you again.”

“My little sister?” Mablung gulped. “She’s here?”, he croaked. “She is a smith, and she's very good.” “That’s what she always wanted.” Mablung smiled with tears in his eyes. “I’m glad that she did it.” What would she think of him, if she heard... “Does she know...” “I told her how I know you, at the beginning, when I came back. She has a drawing of you in her room, I saw it and recognised you. Don’t worry, Mablung.” Mo patted his hand soothingly. “She loves you very much. She would never think ill of you.”

“I want to see her, but not today. I’m so tired.” Sadness exhausted and he had cried a lot today, his eyes felt sore. “Of course.” Mo stood up. “Do you want me to show you your room? You can rest a little. And I’ll tell Liriel that she has to wait until tomorrow.” Mablung rose, too, and embraced Mo. “Thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Mo patted his back. “You’d have made it without me. You are strong, Mablung, you can do everything.”


	64. Chapter Sixty-Three

Mablung woke from a knock on the door. He rubbed his eyes and blinked into the sunlight that shone through the curtains. “I’m coming”, he called with hoarse voice and hastily slipped into trousers and shirt. “Yes?” A unfamiliar elf-woman stood outside and looked at him with dark eyes. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, three rings glinted in her left earlobe.

“Mablung! Hanno... you are back.” She threw her arms around his neck. Mablung stiffened. Hanno... 'brother'. “Liriel? Is that really you?” Tears clouded his sight when he embraced her. “Where have you been so long, Mablung?” She sobbed. “I waited for you.” “I couldn’t come back, not then. But come in.” Mablung slipped easily into the language of his childhood, a Quenya that wasn’t spoken anywhere on Arda anymore. He closed the door behind her.

“Sit down while I dress properly. I was still asleep.” “I’m sorry for waking you. Mo asked me to wait, but I had to see you.” “It’s fine, now I’m awake. Nésa, what did Mo tell you about me?” Mablung tucked nervously on the ties of his jacket. What would she think of him? “That you were his slave and Moringotto’s. That you are very strong.” Liriel looked shyly at him. “That you love Moringotto.”

Mablung felt his heart clench. “Do you think, you could call him Melkor?” Liriel’s eyes widened. “Of course. I’m sorry, Mablung, I wasn’t thinking. Are you sure?” Mablung nodded, looking at his hands. “He is the One, Liriel. I know it is hard to understand, but yes, I love him. What do you think of me now?” He feared the answer but he had to ask.

“Do you think, I would love you any less for it? But I don’t understand it. He bears the blame for everything that happened to our people. You were his slave!” “I was his slave.” Mablung nodded calmly. “I was as close to him as nobody else and although he surely didn’t intend it, I saw much of his emotional life. He was lonely, Liriel. And now he isn’t the cruel man you know from the stories anymore. He paid.” Mablung’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of how afraid Melkor had to be in Mandos.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, hanno. You never tried to dissuade me from my dream and I didn’t tell father when you met with Laurefinde. We always took each other as we are, that hasn’t changed.” “Thank you, nésa.” Mablung embraced her relieved. “Did you tell our parents what Mo said to you?” “Yes. I couldn’t keep them in the dark. It hit them hard. Father would have loved to punish Mo personally for it, but I could talk him out of it.”

“So you and Mo are friends?” It was strange to imagine that. “Yes. He made himself scarce at first, it wasn’t easy to get close to him, but we became friends. He doesn’t live here anymore but we write letters to each other.” “He told me, that you are a smith now. You fulfilled your dream.” “Yes, and don’t ask what a fight that was, father wasn’t very encouraging, but I’m a mastersmith now.” She lifted the pendant she wore around her neck. Aules sign was engraved into it, together with three stars.

“I’m very proud of you, Liriel.” Mablung kissed her cheek. “Thank you.” She blinked fast. “Are you hungry? I wanted to pick you up for breakfast.” Mablung hesitated, they would stare at him, surely everyone knew by now, who he was. “We could call on Mo and Laiglas and see if they want to come, too.” “Okay, let’s go.” He couldn’t hide in this room forever. It would be better to act as if he didn’t notice the attention, hopefully it would vanish soon.

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung tossed and turned in bed. Yesterday, he had fallen asleep easily, he had been exhausted by the events and his pain, but today, sleep didn’t come. He missed Melkor, not only his warmth next to him, but the sound of his breath. He couldn’t feel him, neither his Music, nor their wedding bond. Mablung curled up, he was cold although he had stoked the fire before lying down.

He had passed the day with Liriel, they had walked around Yavanna’s Garden, garden was an understatement, the grounds were so large that you couldn’t see the walls, that limited it, from the entrance. They had talked, about Liriel’s work, what had happened in Aman while Mablung had been away, about Mablung’s journeys. It had felt good to be with his sister, although they felt sometimes shy, they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. Mablung hoped, that they could be as intimate as they had once been. Hopefully with Melkor at his side.

Mablung sobbed, he felt so lonely. He wanted to go to Mo, he wouldn’t be alone there at least, but he couldn’t bother him and Laiglas in the middle of the night. Hot tears ran down his cheeks, but the rest of his body was cold. He was trembling, although he wore sleeping clothes.

Mablung started at the knock. He staggered to the door, the blanket around his shoulders. “Mo?” He croaked and wiped his wet eyes angrily, he had to be stronger. Mo embraced him wordlessly. “I could hear you, Mablung. Please don’t be afraid to come to me, when you need me, no matter what time it is.” “I didn’t want to disturb you and Laiglas.” Mo shook his head. “We are your friends, both of us. If you’d rather be alone, I will accept that, but I’m here to take you with me, if you want.”

“Yes.” Mablung clung to him. “I’m so cold, Mo, it’s so cold without him.” He wasn’t sure, if Laiglas was really fine with this but he couldn’t bring himself to protest. “Then come.”

Laiglas smiled sleepily at him, when Mo brought him into their bedroom. “You don’t need to do this alone, Mablung”, he mumbled. Mablung snuggled into Mo and let his familiar music embrace him. Mo was like an anchor, he could cling to. “Sleep, nethben”, Mo whispered and kissed his forehead. “Sleep.”

 

Mo watched the room becoming slowly brighter, Laiglas’ head lay on one of his arms, his other hand lay on Mablung’s arm. The elf had cried himself to sleep yesterday, Mo had heard him sob for a long while. It was so hard for him to be parted from Melkor again, he could feel it when he concentrated on his music, almost as if it were his own pain.

“I bet you dreamed about this”, Laiglas mumbled, Mo saw him grin when he turned his head to him. “To lie with both of us in a bed, I mean. Don’t tell me, you aren’t interested in him.” Mo laughed softly. “Once maybe.” Mablung and Melkor belonged so much together that there wasn’t room for such thoughts. “But I didn’t think about that now. It has to be so hard for him. He was torn from his familiar surroundings, his husband has been taken from him and shortly he will have to speak to the Valar. He needs to know that he is not alone.”

“I know, and I’m glad that you said something yesterday. He looked awful, as if he were grieving.” Laiglas gulped. “He reminded me of my father after mother had died. Mo, do you think, he and Melkor have a chance?” “Yes.” Mo put all the confidence he could muster into the words. “I’m sure. Mablung can do it. Mablung made Melkor fall in love with him, he can convince the Valar, too.”

Mablung moved on his other side. “Good morning.” Mo kissed his forehead. “Are you warmer now?” “Yes.” Mablung smiled at him. “Thank you, both of you. I didn’t want to intrude, but to not be alone was what I needed.” “No reason to apologise.” Laiglass pressed his hand. “Of course we help a friend who is in need.”

 

Mablung stood in Mo’s bathroom and dried his hair. He felt better than last night, although he still couldn’t feel Melkor. He didn’t know if it was so because he was in Mandos, or if Melkor did it. It felt horrible, as if his heart had been ripped out. Did they realise, what they did to him? Maybe they didn’t care. Mablung dressed, he heard voiced from the other room. He was in no mood for visitors, but he couldn’t hide in the bathroom.

The visitor stood with his back to Mablung and talked insistently to Mo. “...and you are going to let that happen? Do you really think he changed? You know him!” “Sharû...” Mo wanted to interrupt him, because he had noticed Mablung, but the orc – Mablung recognised the name – didn’t let him. “I don’t believe the assertions of a lovesick elf. Ecthelion would rip my head off for it, but...”

“So you think me mad, yes?”, Mablung asked behind him. The orc froze and turned slowly around. “I wanted to tell you, who he is and that he is here, but you didn’t give me a chance to speak”, Mo sighed when Sharû looked back and forth between them with wide eyes. “I think, you know each other, Mablung, Sharû.” Mablung wasn’t sure if he would have recognised him, he didn’t look at all like the captain he remembered, but he hadn’t forgotten the name.

“You believe, I can’t judge if he changed?”, he asked defiantly. “Mablung, I...” Sharû’s cheeks turned dark. “I didn’t know that you... it was only said, an elf... Are you sure?” “That he changed? Yes. He had to endure so much. His hatred drowned in pain.” Mablung swallowed hard. “But for how long? And isn’t it only wishful thinking?”

“You haven’t seen him, Sharû. He was afraid of me. Of _me_!”, Mo said. “Besides, it isn’t only Mablung who loves Melkor. Melkor returns this love. He yielded so that Mablung could be free.” Mablung sniffled. “I should have stayed. I was such an idiot.” Mo shook his head. “You had to go, it was the only right thing to do. They would have defeated us, one way or another, we never stood a chance and they wouldn’t have listened to you, back then. You wouldn’t have dared to talk to them.”

Mablung wanted to object, but he knew that Mo was right. He had been a slave, he wouldn’t have dared to contradict rulers. He wasn’t sure, that he could do it now. He shook himself. “You don’t seem to be surprised to see me here”, Sharû noted. “Laiglas told me what you and Mo did for them.” He examined Sharû from top to bottom. “Live in Aman seems to benefit you.” He had been surprised, to see him alive, but he remembered, what Sharû had told him about his parents. “Are all orcs immortal?”

Sharû shook his head. “Not the younger generations and even of the ones who went with Mo, some turned out to be mortal. But...” He smiled wryly, showing a strong canine. “We could have fared far worse. Forgive me for doubting you. If someone knows Melkor, it is you.” Mablung shrugged. “I’m surprised, that _you_ are against his pardon.”

“I don’t owe him anything.” Sharû growled deep in his throat. “Do you know how my parents were treated? How he and his Maiar – except for Mo – snubbed us? It was easier for us, than for the slaves, I won’t deny that, but we weren’t treated well. My father was an elf, before he was taken captive and he was in pain his whole life, my grandmother was a slave. I didn’t forget that. Can you hold it against me, that I don’t have very friendly feelings for Melkor?”

“I understand.” Mablung’s heart sank. If even Melkor’s own people where against his release, how should he convince the Valar? “You elves are all insane, I’ve come to expect that from you.” Sharû shook his head grinning. “But I’m going to believe you. You knew him in his worst moments, after all.” “I did. I know how he was before, and I know how he is now. He will never again do something against the will of the Valar.” Mablung looked at the floor and jerked, when the orc laid his hands on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Mablung. I don’t have friendly feelings for Melkor, but I feel sorry for you.” “Why do you say that? You don’t know me.” Mablung had been surprised, that he had even recognised him. “I remember a young elf, who sang me a lullaby because he pitied me. I might not know you, but I know that you have a big heart. I hope you’ll get that pardon for him. If he deserves it, the Valar will be merciful, they were towards me and my people.” Mablung’s lips trembled when he tried to smile, but he pressed Sharû’s hand gratefully. He couldn’t share his trust in the Valar’s justice, but his words touched him.

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung was nervous, he hadn’t slept much this night. Today was the most important day in his life, he mustn’t fail. He trembled and not because he was cold, while Mo helped him dress. It was Mo’s old uniform, he had dug it out a few days ago and a friend of him had fit it to Mablung’s size. “You look good in it”, Mo said while tucking at the sash. “What am I to do with that?”, Mablung asked incredulous when he girded him with a sword. Mo shrugged. “It goes with the uniform.”

Mablung wasn’t sure anymore if it was a good idea to wear it. It would provoke a lot of people, but somehow it felt right. He would show everyone, that he belonged with Melkor. He opened the wooden box with his shackles and took the collar out. The uniform and the mark of his former status, that was what he would wear. His fingers were clumsy and fought with the clasp. “Can you close it, Mo. This clasp isn’t intended for the one wearing it to close it.”

Mo laughed softly, his fingers were warm on Mablung’s skin. “It’s very brave of you to wear that.” “I don’t want the people to see the uniform and forget that I was Melkor’s slave.” Mablung smiled at Mo over his shoulder. “Are you afraid?” Mo caressed his shoulders. “A little, yes.” Mablung closed his eyes. “This is so important. If it doesn’t work...” “Don’t think like that. You are going to save him.”

“Thank you, Mo. I’m glad that I have you as a friend.” Mablung turned around and kissed his cheek. “And I’m glad that you even want me as a friend, after all that happened”, Mo answered with a serious look. “If I remember right, you offered me my freedom. Do you want me to be mad about that?” “I didn’t mean that.” “I know, but it was long ago and it is forgiven. And now let’s go and save Melkor.” Confidence, that’s what he needed most of all.

 

The crowd, that had formed around the Mahanaxar, could be heard from afar. Mablung’s fingers cramped around the reins. He had to get through all those people who stared at him as if he were a ghost. Mablung heard them whisper to each other, when he dismounted and walked with Mo up the lane that led to the Mahanaxar. His place was with the other witnesses, at the very front. Mo patted his shoulder before he walked to Aule’s side.

“Are you insane?”, Glorfindel hissed at him. “What do you mean by that?” “I show the world, to whom I belong”, Mablung hissed back. “I thought, you are on my side.” “I am, but you could be a little more diplomatic.” Meldor shook his head, grinning. “I’m not surprised.” He took Mablung’s hands. “We’ll do it.” “Thank you, Meldor.” Mablung was distracted when he recognised the elf, who Elrond talked to.

“Maglor?” The elf turned around, his eyes widened when he looked at his clothes. “Mablung, what the heck are you wearing? So it is true, what the people say?” “I love Melkor.” Mablung raised his chin. “I’m here to save him.” Maglor’s face was unreadable. “Have you forgotten...” “No”, Mablung interrupted him. “I haven’t forgotten, but it doesn’t matter. I understand that this is difficult for you, cundonya, but..." Mablung turned his gaze to Melkor who was led into the Mahanaxar by two Maiar. "Please excuse me.”

The conversations around him first became a hostile undertone then they hushed. Mablung’s heart hurt. Melkor was deathly pale, the Maiar carried him more than he walked himself. Mablung could feel this fear despite all these Ainur around him, who stressed his senses. He wanted to run to him and embrace him, but he had promised Aule that he would wait until he was called. It was important to do everything according to protocol.

“I know how you feel, but you have to check yourself. Keep a clear head or you won’t be of any use to Melkor”, Mo had said to him before they had left the smithy. Now that he saw Melkor it was even harder. There was so much hopelessness in his music. Mablung didn’t know, what he would do, if he heard that Namo had done something to him.

 

Mablung relaxed a little when his friends one by one argued in favour of Melkor. Elrond prudent and calm; Meldor nervous but vehemently; Glorfindel with the confident easiness of a noble. And then it was his turn. Mablung’s mouth turned dry when his name was called. His knees felt weak when he stepped into the ring and bowed to the Valar.

His gaze fell on the shells of the trees and he gulped. Melkor had done so much wrong, they would never forgive him. All the Valar looked at him, it was almost too much, a storm of Music in which he risked to lose himself. Mablung listened until he found Melkor and clung to the familiar melody. He licked his lips and breathed in deeply, then he started to sing. At first the notes were quiet, but with every word, with ever note, he became more bold. He would do it, he wouldn’t give Melkor up!

 

Melkor's back ached excruciatingly but when Mablung started to sing, he almost forgot about it. Mablung sang with clear voice from their life together, Melkor stared at him, he couldn’t help himself. Of course he had taught him Valarin and he had known that he spoke it well, but now, that he stood here, he became aware of what a miracle it was.

This wonderful being loved him, Melkor felt tears run down his cheeks. All the aches that his body caused him in varied ways, vanished from his mind. There was only Mablung’s song. They didn’t interrupt him and he was glad for it. Were they as enchanted as him? For the first time he allowed himself to feel a little hope. Finally, Mablung ended. For a moment it was completely silent, as if even the wind had stopped to listen and – Melkor smiled despite everything – maybe he had.

 

The Valar stared at him in amazement. Not because of what he had said, although he hoped they would take it favourably, but because of the language he had used to express his plea. Mo had been right, it had been a good idea. He could see from the corner of his eye that even Melkor had lifted his head. Varda was the first one who moved. “Regardless of what might be decided concerning Melkor, I think you’ve earned our applause, Mablung.”

Mablung bowed deeply to her. “Thank you, Mistress. I hope, my request will be regarded with favour.” “So you think that he changed, that he would bow to us?”, Namo asked softly and Mablung shivered, this voice haunted him in his dreams. “Yes”, he answered. “He won’t betray you another time.” They became silent again, Mablung felt that they talked, but he couldn’t make out what they said. He thought that he could detect feelings, but everything was so interlaced that he couldn’t tell them apart.

“Has anyone another question for Mablung?” Manwe looked around once and dismissed him when no one came forward. Mablung touched Melkor’s shoulder, before he left the ring. He saw the look that Manwe and Namo shared. Namo nodded and stood up. Mablung felt immediately that it was over, Namo wouldn’t let Melkor go and Manwe wouldn’t intervene. Frozen in pain he heard the sentence.

“The love of this elf doesn’t change what Melkor has done.” Namo’s voice was cool, emotionless as if it didn’t mean anything to him. “The old sentence remains in place.” If Melkor wanted it or not, in this moment their bond grew together again and Mablung felt all the pain, the fear, the panic that Melkor felt. He couldn’t think straight anymore, he only knew that he mustn’t let Namo get to Melkor.

Glorfindel tried to hold him back, but Mablung twisted himself free and ran back into the ring, between Melkor and Namo. His hands closed around the haft of the sword he only wore because Mo had pushed it on him. “Keep away!” He heard someone scream, when he pointed the weapon at Namo, but he didn’t care, he had to protect Melkor. His hands trembled so much that the sword's tip swayed.

“I won’t allow you to get him”, his voice was high with fear. “You forget your place, elf.” Namo’s voice sounded like splintering ice, Mablung felt cold. Namo’s voice didn’t show what he thought, and he couldn’t read in his music – he didn’t even know which of them was Namo. “My place is here”, he whispered, “at Melkor’s side.” “Step aside and I’ll forget that you raised your sword against me, kinslayer.”

Mablung had the sounds of this night in his ears. The screams of the wounded, the battlecries of the Noldor... But he couldn’t, if he relented now, he would lose Melkor. “Step aside. I won’t say it another time.” It was so cold, a storm howled around him, he was alone, had lost his way. “No...”, he sobbed. He trembled, he was so cold, his hands and feet became numb. The sword slipped from his fingers. His racing heart stumbled and failed. He heard Melkor call his name, then he fell into darkness.

 

Melkor watched horrified as Mablung’s legs buckled. He couldn’t hear him anymore, he was gone! “No!”, he whispered with tears in his eyes. He didn’t worry about his guards or his hurting back any longer. “NO!” He crawled to his fallen beloved, his chains rattled. “Mablung.” He lifted him into his arms and brushed the tangled hair from his face, Mablung’s eyes were unseeing.

Melkor felt his heart break to pieces. It mustn’t be! Not Mablung! But where Mablung had been was only emptiness. He had suppressed their bond for the last weeks because he hadn’t wanted his beloved to suffer from his fear, but Mablung had been still there, he had been able to feel him. Now he was gone, he had died for him. He cradled Mablung’s body crying. “Mablung, no. Open your eyes, melindo, please, you mustn’t leave me. Don’t leave me, I need you!”

“He won’t come back”, Namo said unmoved. “Come now.” Melkor fought the hands of the Maiar who pulled him away from Mablung and tried desperately to catch Manwe’s gaze. It was too late for him, but Mablung mustn’t die like this. “Please, brother”, he sobbed. “Save him, please. For the sake of the love that was once between us, save him. He only tried to help me. He mustn’t die because of me, please.”

“Do you love him, brother?”, Manwe asked softly. “Yes.” Melkor sobbed. “Please.” “Bring him back, Namo.” “What?” At another time Melkor might have laughed in triumph over Namo’s humiliation, but now he was only relieved that Manwe fulfilled his last wish, he didn’t care for Namo. “I said: Bring him back.” Manwe’s voice was sharp. “You have no right to take his life, you know that very well.”

Melkor stopped his resistance when Mablung took a deep breath and sat up. He shook himself like a wet dog then his gaze shot to the sword that had fallen from his hands. “No, Mablung.” Melkor held his hands tight. “Don’t do that.” “But...” Mablung pressed his hands. “They mustn’t take you away from me!”

“I think, we shouldn’t part two lovers”, Manwe said, “but I have made a wrong decision once before were Melkor’s fate was concerned. Brothers and sisters, what do you think, should Namo’s sentence be softened? Should imprisonment in Mandos be changed to house arrest in Ilmaren?” Melkor looked up surprised, his brother gave him a gentle smile. The Maiar had let go of him and Melkor embraced Mablung. The voting of his siblings happened silently, he couldn’t hear them, only wait for Manwe to speak.

“Mablung, don’t ever do something like this again, do you hear me?” He buried his face in his hair. “Don’t put yourself in danger because of me.” What would they do to Mablung? Never before had anyone dared to raise a weapon against a Vala, not even Feanor himself. “Without you, my life means nothing”, Mablung said gently and caressed his cheek. “What am I to do here, if you are gone? Don’t ever separate us again, please. Promise it.”

Melkor shook his head silently and looked up frightened, when Manwe stood. “The majority of our siblings have decided to show mercy, Melkor. The chains will be removed, but you will wear the collar, as a reminder. Don’t squander our mercy recklessly, you won’t get another chance.” Melkor let go of Mablung and bowed his head until his forehead touched the floor, hot pain shot through his body. _Thank you, heruvinya. I won’t forget your mercy._ He would never have believed that his siblings would support his pardon. _Thank you. And I beg you, be lenient with Mablung. He didn’t see another way._

“That is a decision for another day.” Manwe looked at Mablung who had stood up and helped Melkor to his feet. “For now you shall live together.” Melkor moaned and leaned heavily against Mablung. “Are you in a lot of pain?”, Mablung asked worriedly. “Has _he_ hurt you?” “No, it’s only my back.” Melkor closed his eyes, he was exhausted, he hadn’t slept much in the last weeks. “They took your brace away”, Mablung noted, trembling with anger.

Melkor only nodded, his lips pressed together, a drop of sweat ran down his temple, he shrank back when Aule stood up. “I only want to take the chains off”, the Vala said with surprisingly gentle voice. “Aule helped us very much”, Mablung said and supported him so he wouldn’t fall. “Will you allow him to touch you?” Melkor nodded stiffly and forced himself to hold still when Aules hands closed around his wrist. Soon the heavy chains were gone, only the collar, that once had been is crown, remained around his neck. No, he wouldn’t forget, what mercy he was given.

It was easier now to keep his balance, but still... “He can’t walk”, Mablung said to Manwe as if he had read his thoughts. “What’s wrong with him?” Melkor looked at the floor when Manwe looked at him. “His back. He can’t walk that far.” “Eonwe will carry him.” Eonwe opened his mouth indignantly, but didn’t object. “Of course, aranya”, he answered without trying to hide his hate for Melkor. “Don’t leave me alone with him”, Melkor whispered at Mablung. “Don’t be afraid.” Mablung kissed his cheek. “No one will part us again.” To Manwe he said: “I’ll go with him.” Manwe nodded. “I’m sure, Eonwe can carry both of you.”

 

Mablung could have enjoyed flying if Melkor hadn’t been in so much pain. He lay in his arms and cried, but Mablung felt that he was also relieved. It had been a close call, but they had done it. Now no one would be able to part them again. Mablung smiled happily, although he had a queasy feeling in his stomach when he thought of the punishment that surely awaited him for his behaviour.

The Valar had banished Feanor because he had drawn a weapon against his brother, what punishment would they set for someone who threatened a Vala? And of course there was the fact that most of Aman’s inhabitants hated Melkor. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on the reactions to Melkor’s pardon, but most of them wouldn’t be happy. He shook his head and looked down at Melkor. They could worry about these things later. Everything that was important, was that they were together now and that it would stay this way.

Melkor didn’t have to go back to Mandos! Mablung sobbed relieved. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I’m just so happy that they showed mercy. I couldn’t have borne to lose you again. I’m so relieved.” Mablung kissed his beloved’s forehead. “It broke my heart when I wasn’t able to feel you. Why did you do it?”

“Because I didn’t want you to feel my fear. Because I thought it was hopeless. You scared me when you drew the weapon on Namo. What were you thinking?” Melkor stared at him wide-eyed. “Nothing. I was so frightened.” Mablung kissed him again. “I could think of nothing else than that I mustn’t let him get to you.” He choked on a laugh. “I should keep away from weapons. Every time I have a sword in hand, something bad happens.”

 

Manwe waited on the top of the tower for them. He brought them himself to the rooms they would inhabit now. Mablung didn’t think about how it had been readied so fast. The mysteries of what Ainur could do, weren’t important now. Melkor leaned heavily on him, his breath hitched at every step down the tower. Mablung could almost feel his pain himself, especially now that their bond was in place again. Finally they reached the rooms.

“Allow me to bring him to bed, aranya”, he asked Manwe. Now that his agitation slowly ceased, he realised with whom he spoke. “Of course. Take your time.” Mablung helped Melkor to undress, he couldn’t even lift his arm properly. “I’ll call for Meldor, he needs to look at this”, Mablung said when he rubbed an ointment on Melkor’s back. Meldor knew best how to easy Melkor’s pain. “Try to sleep a little, you look tired.” “Will you stay with me?”

Mablung kissed his shoulder. “I think, Manwe waits to have a word with me, but I won’t be long. You are save now, melindo, no one is going to hurt you.” Manwe sat on a couch in front of a window that allowed a wide few over the mountains. “Aranya?” Mablung stepped to his side, but didn’t sit down, he knew how to treat his superiors. Manwe offered him a seat with a wave of his hand. “You will be relieved to hear, that Namo forgoes a charge. But you shouldn’t do something like that again. What were you thinking?” Manwe looked at him with displeasure.

“Nothing.” Mablung lowered his head. “If I had thought, I wouldn’t have done it, but I was mad with fear for Melkor. My life means nothing without him. To lose him again...” Mablung shook his head. Manwe’s music, a piano like Melkor, became gentle. “We know that, that’s why Namo agreed to forget what happened. Ever since Luthien danced for him, we all know how boundless elvenlove is.”

Mablung smiled embarrassed. “I left him once, because I thought he wouldn’t love me, I couldn’t have done it again. He deserves to be loved, to be happy. And would you have helped him if I hadn’t reacted as I did?” “I don’t know.” It seemed to Mablung that Manwe felt uncomfortable about that question. “I don’t understand you. You let him almost die, but then you save him, but instead of helping him yourself, you send him to Middle-Earth and then you would allow Namo to make all this void? You love him, or you did once at least, why are you so hard to him, aranya?”

“I’m not in a position to let my heart decide. When I did the last time, it resulted in catastrophe.” Mablung could feel the moment he realised that he just had admitted to something no one should know. “How...” Mablung shrugged. “He often called for you in his sleep. ‘Manwe! Stay with me. Please, don’t leave me.’ He missed you very much, although he would never have admitted to it.”

“I won’t get in your way, in case you fear that”, Manwe said after a moment. “It is long over, although he still means a lot to me – he is my brother. I’m glad that you are here, Mablung. You are right, he deserves to be loved – by someone who has the courage to love him as he is.” “And I do.” Mablung was relieved that Manwe saw it that way. “I would never want to bend him.” Mablung rubbed his tired eyes. “How is this going to continue?”

“I don’t know.” Manwe watched him helplessly. “I heard Elrond’s and Meldor’s reports. He isn’t well, is he?” ‘And whose fault is that?’, Mablung thought ungraciously. “No, he isn’t well”, he answered. “He barely trusts me. You can’t imagine how that feels for me.” Mablung shook his head. “But that only takes a lot of patience. His back is the worst physical problem. Meldor made him a brace that supports him. Namo has taken it from him. Could you see to it that he gets it back, and his cane, too?”

“Of course.” Manwe nodded. “I will do everything that furthers his recovery. Maybe Yavanna should look at it again.” Mablung shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Melkor trusts Meldor, that’s the only reason he is allowed to touch him. Didn’t you see how he reacted when Aule took off the chains?” Manwe was so full of sorrow, that Mablung reached out for him unconsciously and patted his hand. He resembled Melkor so much that it was hard for him to stay formally.

Manwe looked surprised. “How did you learn to speak Valarin?”, he asked. “Melkor taught me.” But Mablung knew that that wasn’t his question. “I can hear you. Here.” Mablung pointed at the place over his heart. ‘Hearing’ was such a imprecise word for that sense but it was like music, and you did hear music. “It was easy for me to understand what Valarin is about.”

Manwe stared at him. “I never heard of anything like it. Do you have an Ainu in your ancestry?” “No one that I know of, but can’t you judge that better?” Manwe scrutinized him as if he would search for evidence, but then he shook his head. “I can’t discern anything that would assure it. And you were born with it?” Mablung shook his head. “It started in Angband. When... I can only think that it happened because I was very stressed. May I ask you something, aranya?”

Manwe nodded. “How strict is Melkor’s house arrest?” Manwe smiled. “I understand that you want as much freedom for him as is possible. Let’s say it that way: He can move freely around Ilmaren including the garden that occupies a whole flank of the mountain. It isn’t a prison. I want him to be happy. I hope... I wish that we can be like brothers again.” Mablung heard the unspoken question in Manwe’s words: ‘Can it ever be like that again?’

“I don’t know if he can ever trust you again, but I for my part will do everything to make a life without fear possible for him. You destroyed him thoroughly, I hope he can be again as he was, someday. It will take time. Please, have patience.” Manwe saw the agony in Mablung’s eyes and averted his eyes. He was guilty for Melkor’s injuries, although he might have deserved it. It had been wrong what they had done.

‘Irmo could help him’, he thought. ‘We would have certainty then that Melkor really repents, but that would mean to separate them again for an unknown time.’ “I will be patient. Please tell me if I can do something to help him.” “Thank you, aranya. What did you do with Mórhuin, if I may ask?” “He is free. We came to the decision that he can’t be judged for carrying Melkor on his back.” Mablung sighed relieved. “That’s good.” He closed his eyes for a moment.

Manwe felt the elf’s exhaustion and stood up. “I won’t keep you away from Melkor any longer. Rest, we’ll have time to talk another time.” Mablung kissed his hand when he took his leave and surprised Manwe with it. That wasn’t common anymore. “That’s not necessary, Mablung”, he said gently. “I don’t want to seem disrespectful, Aran Einior. I realise that you didn’t get a good first impression of me today.”

Manwe shook his head. “I think we can agree that it was an exceptional situation and we can’t judge your character by it. Good bye for now, Mablung.” “Good bye, aranya. May I ask you for another thing?” “Of course?” “Would you send someone to fetch Meldor?” “Immediately.”


	65. Chapter Sixty-Four

Manwe was surprised to find Mablung sitting at the edge of the tower. Mablung sighed silently, he had come here in the hope to be alone. Manwe sat down beside him. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You quickly found the most secluded place in Ilmaren.” “You don’t disturb me. I just needed to be alone for a bit.” He had had many visitors in the last days. First Meldor who had tended to Melkor’s back. Later Glorfindel and Mo and yesterday evening Reviahûn who had talked amicably with him but couldn’t understand.

He was sick of having to answer the same question over and over again. Manwe looked down. “Most of the elves I know would feel ill at ease so high up.” “I like it here. The tugging in the belly from the altitude is alluring.” Manwe laughed. “Is it the danger?” “No.” Mablung thought about it for a moment. “When I was a child, I was always climbing around in the mountains, altitude doesn’t scare me. I sailed long ago, to sit here feels like sailing fast, although I don’t move.” “You can sail?” “I don’t think that can do it very well.”

Mablung’s heart ached. “It was before we left. And I don’t think that my old Telerifriends would welcome me. It surprised me, that you didn’t bring up Alqualonde at the trial.” 'Kinslayer' Namo had called him and been right. “It’s forgiven.” Manwe laid his hand on his shoulder. “Although I wouldn’t depend on all Teleri seeing it that way.” “And what happened yesterday? Is that forgiven, too?” Manwe had said something like this, but Mablung wasn’t so sure. “Isn’t it a little unusual for Namo to let it rest.”

“I won’t discuss Namo’s nature with you”, Manwe answered curtly. “What he does, always has a deeper meaning.” “And of course it had a deeper meaning to be so cruel to Melkor!” Mablung couldn’t stop the words. What Namo had done... “I know that you can’t forgive that easily, but I think so. Knowledge can be a burden, Mablung, and he carries that burden alone.”  "Melkor was alone, too and no one cared how he felt!”

“Melkor chose his own fate, Namo was burdened with it. Don’t dare to judge him”, Manwe snapped at him. Mablung flinched. Manwe’s anger let his hair flutter in the wind and suddenly Mablung was aware that the floor was very far away. “That was disrespectful of me”, he said with trembling voice. “Please forgive me.” ‘Idiot’, he told himself. What had gotten into him? Normally it was easy for him to show respect to his betters. “You are right, it was disrespectful.” Manwe’s blue eyes buried into his. “It seems, where Melkor is concerned, you forget all else.”

“Yes.” Mablung couldn’t avert his gaze. “It is that way. I’m sorry, aranya.” Manwe nodded and released him from his gaze. Mablung stood up, relieved. “If you will excuse me, aranya, I want to look after Melkor.” He couldn’t leave the bed at the moment and Mablung only left him for short moments. “Of course.” Mablung’s knees trembled when he walked down the tower. Manwe resembled Melkor very much when he was angry, was he aware of that? He tried to relax before he went into their rooms. If Melkor thought, he was afraid of Manwe, it would only fuel his own fear.

Mablung noted with delight that Melkor sat upright in the bed and read, the last days he had only been able to lie. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here when you woke.” Mablung kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry.” Melkor turned his head in his direction so that their cheeks touched for a moment. “You don’t have to sit here all day. I hope that I’ll be able to stand up in a few days. Did you speak with your parents, yet?” Mablung looked away self-consciously. “No.” He was delaying it.

He knew of course, that he had to visit them someday, but the last days he had been able to make excuses to himself because he had had so many visitors and... “It’s a day’s ride to Tirion, that means I’ll be away for at least two days. I don’t want to leave you for so long.” Melkor lifted his eyebrows. “Meldor checks on me every day, I won’t grow lonely.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.” Melkor laughed an Mablung was glad that he was so cheerful. He had feared that the two weeks in Mandos had intensified his fears, but it looked like it wasn’t so.

“You worry how they will react to you, but the longer you wait, the harder it will get.” Melkor pressed his hand. “Visit them.” “I want to, but...” Mablung bit his lip. “I’m afraid that they will not want me any longer. I was so sure for so long that I would never see them again and now...” “I know.” Melkor kissed his fingers. “Still, you have to go.”

 

Mablung’s hand trembled when he lifted it to knock on the door of his parent’s house. He had left Mórhuin before the gates of Tirion, the Maia didn’t like to be in a city. It was Valanya and his father would be home, if it was as he remembered it. He traced the notches in the doorpost with a smile. Here his mother had measured his sister and him, when they were children. His little sister that had already outgrown him with fourteen.

He could have asked Liriel to come with him and he had thought about it for a moment, but he had to do this alone. His father opened the door, for a moment they looked speechlessly at each other. “Father”, Mablung whispered and tears came to his eyes. “Your son has come home.” “Mablung.” His father embraced him and pulled him into the house. “Your are being talked of.” He shook his head in disapproval. “I was at the trial. What you dared to do there...” He stepped back and examined him through moist eyes. “Moringotto, yonya?”

“Melkor”, Mablung mumbled, but it was harder to correct his father than others. His father shook his head. “I should tan your hide for everything you did. To vanish without a word! Do you know how much your mother worried?” He sighed. “Do come in. We should talk.” “Is mother home?” Mablung eyed the hall stand where the belt, his father used to punish him with still hung. “No, she’s at the market, that can take a while.” Mablung nodded and came to a decision. They were alone, that was good.

“You are right, we have to talk and I’m glad that you didn’t shut the door in my face. But firstly...” Mablung took the belt from its hook. “For going away without saying goodbye, I deserve a spanking.” His father took the belt hesitantly. “I didn’t mean it. You are a grown man and...” Mablung tilted his head. “I deserve it”, he repeated. “And you want to do it.” His father smiled grimly. “Yes, I want to. And if you insist... Come.”

Mablung followed him up the stairs and into his study. His heart was in his mouth, but that was more an reaction to his memories. He had feared this punishments when he was a child, not that it would have kept him from doing what he wanted, but it had hurt. He smiled wryly, since then he had had been in much worse pain. Nothing of what is father would do, could harm him. He could bear a sore backside if it meant that his father would forgive him. Mablung waited for his father to sit down.

“It wasn’t right of me to go away and to do it without a word of goodbye was reprehensible. I beg your forgiveness, father, punish me as you see fit.” His father lifted an eyebrow and Mablung bit his lip, the last words came from another place. “Very well, yonya. You shall get what you ask for. Punishment – and after, forgiveness. Pull your trousers down and kneel.” Mablung opened his belt and knelt beside his father before he pushed his trousers down and bowed over.

His father pulled his arm on his back so he would stay down, but his hand held him only lightly. Mablung’s chest lay over his thighs, he felt his father strike out. The leather smacked his backside and left a burning trail. Mablung breathed deeply. Three slaps followed in short order, then... nothing. Mablung tried to look over his shoulder, but his father gripped his wrist tighter and stopped him. He felt his father push his shirt up and heard him gasp. “By the Valar, yonya!”

He didn’t understand at first what had appalled his father so much, but then he realised that he possibly had never seen this kind of scars. “Was it very bad?”, he asked softly, a cool finger traced one of the scars. “Some times were worse than others”, Mablung answered, suddenly he had a lump in his throat. It didn’t matter, how much he loved Melkor, he was glad that Angband was over. His father helped him rise. “I forgive you, yonya”, he whispered with rough voice and kissed him on both cheeks. “I can’t beat you when I see the traces others left on your body.” Mablung returned his embrace. “Let’s go down”, his father said finally.

 

“Wine?” His father smiled when he poured him a glass. “You had grape juice when we sat together last.” Mablung laughed and sat down on the corner bench, the sun shone on his back. “Only because you wouldn’t let me drink wine. I drank wine with Glorfindel.” His father’s face darkened. “Don’t talk of him in my house! He persuaded you to leave us.” Mablung tried to keep his anger in check. He didn’t want to fight with him again, but...

“It wasn’t Glorfindel’s fault that I left, he even tried to send me back. I wanted to be free, that’s why I left. I wanted to be with Glorfindel without you telling me all the time that two men can’t love each other.” “And now you want to make me believe that you love Moringotto, yes?” His father struggled to keep his voice even, but Mablung saw that he wanted to jell at him. “Yes, father, he is the One for me, if you believe it or not.”

To his surprise, his father closed his eyes and breathed a few times deeply. “I don’t want to fight with you, Mablung. In fact, if you had come back with Glorfindel, I think I could have accepted it. But Moringotto... despite everything? Despite the scars on your back and... did he...” “Rape me? Yes.” His father couldn’t meet his eyes and Mablung wondered if he was ashamed to have such a son. “Him and so many others that I stopped counting.” “Why didn’t you give up your life?”, his father whispered.

Mablung gulped. “Would you have preferred that?”, he asked hoarsely. “That I’d died and retained my honour?” “No!” He jumped when his father gripped him by the shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that, Mablung. I would never wish you dead, but...” “Elves die of it.” Mablung nodded. “I couldn’t. I was too frightened by death, I still heard Namo’s words, that we were cursed and... I was in Alqualonde, father. I killed an elf, I did it to save Glorfindel, but the Teler was dead after. I felt, that what happened to me, was only just punishment for a murderer.”

His father squeezed his hand. “You are my son and it doesn’t matter what you do, you will always be my son. I lost you for so long, I can’t condemn you now. I love you, Mablung, and no one and nothing will change it.” Mablung’s smile trembled. “Thank you, father. It is good to know, that I still have a family.” He sat up straighter when he heard the door open. His mother was home. His father stood up and walked into the corridor. Mablung heard them talk.

“Do we have a visitor?” His mother sounded a little breathless. She must have seen his cloak. “I’m not presentable.” His father laughed softly. “Believe me, Sarena, he won’t care. Come in.” Mablung stood up and stopped in the middle of the room, not sure if he should go to meet her. His mother was fussing with her hair, when she came in. She wore a simple, yellow dress and an apron over it. “Good afternoon, emya”, Mablung said and she stopped tugging at her hair.

“Mablung”, she whispered and embraced him. She was smaller than he remembered, even a little smaller than him. “You are home”, she sobbed and Mablung felt tears coming to his eyes, too. “Yes, emya, I’m home.” “Let me look at you. You are so thin.” She put her hand to his cheek. “Are you hungry? You’ll stay for lunch?” It was more an order than a question. “Of course, emya, gladly.” She started to unpack her shopping basket that his father had brought in. “They all talk about you, the whole city. Is it true that you love Moringotto?”

“Melkor”, Mablung said and she blinked at him. “Yes, yes of course”, she mumbled. “So it’s true.” Mablung nodded. “I love him, yes, he is my husband.” He knew that he would have to confirm that a lot of times until it would be accepted. Towards all and everyone. “Oh, nethben.” He winced, that pet name was inseparably linked to Melkor now, but he relaxed when his mother embraced him again. “It has to be so hard for you.”

Mablung was thankful that she accepted it without asking. Maybe she didn’t understand but she made him feel as if it didn’t matter. He was really home. “Sit down, while I cook.” “Can I help?” “Out of the question!” Mablung sat down and caught an amused glance from his father. “Have you seen Liriel, yet?”, his mother asked while cutting vegetables. “Yes, I lived in Aule’s home, because Mo is my friend. I met her there.” “We are very proud of her”, his father answered. “She worked hard for it.”

“She makes wonderful jewellery.” His mother said. “I can show you a few pieces later. Unfortunately she is seldom at home, because of her work. Will you move in with us again? Your room remains as it was.” “I can’t, emya. I can’t leave Melkor.” “Yes, of course.” She nodded. “Spouses should be together.” “You really _married_ him?”, his father asked with disbelieve in his voice. “Be silent, Thorgil”, his mother scolded gently, before Mablung could answer something heated. “Of course he married him, if he loves him.” She came over and kissed Mablung’s hair. “I wish, I could have been there.”

“No one was.” Mablung lowered his gaze. “He is frightened of almost anyone. All considered, it wasn’t even a real wedding, but we are One...” “And that is all that counts.” His father huffed, but he kept silent. His mother crouched down beside him so she could look into his eyes. “I hope, you’ll introduce him to us soon.” “Thank you, emya. I’ll see what I can do. As I said, he is frightened of strangers. His time in Mandos broke him. And I know, what _you_ think.” Mablung turned around to his father. “Yes, maybe he deserved it. I don’t deny that he was cruel and brutal and a tyrant, but I love him and so I never could wish him to get hurt. And now I have somehow to...”

Mablung angrily brushed the tears away. “Somehow I have to help him, but... it’s so hard to see him like that.” His mother caressed his neck. “My boy. I’m sure that everything is going to be alright. If he were an elf, I’d say he should go to Lorien, but...”  “Then we would be parted again.” Mablung sniffled. “And besides, he will be as frightened of Irmo as he is of the others.” But he wondered if that was really rue. Irmo had helped them both with the dreams. And wasn’t it selfish to keep him here, if Irmo could help him? “You know, Mablung, everyone only talks about you having been his slave, but I want to know what you did the last five thousand years. Why don’t you tell me about your adventures?” Mablung smiled, grateful for the change of topic. “Gladly.”

 

At home, a surprise waited for Mablung. He heard the rhythmic knocking before he opened the door. “Linqil?”, he said. His nephew sat on the sofa and drummed with two spoons on the table. The door to the sleeping room was open, Mablung looked in and was surprised to see Melkor laughing – and then Mablung realised what Linqil was telling him. “Your mother wouldn’t be pleased if she heard you making fun of her.” Linqil stuck out his tongue and finished his tale. “You weren’t here and I couldn’t watch him tremble in fear, so I improvised a little.”

“How long have you been here already?” Mablung walked to Melkor and kissed his forehead. “Are you well?” “Yes.” Melkor smiled at him. “The boy is like you.” “Half an hour or so. I let myself in. Where have you been?” “Visiting my parents.” _How was it?_ “Better than I hoped.” To Linqil he said: “Are you alone?” “Yes, father and I were hunting when I heard that you are here. I think, he didn’t want me to be there at the trial. You seem to have made quite a ruckus, you aren’t like that normally. But I thought, I’ll come visiting and become acquainted with my uncle.”

Mablung needed a moment to understand what he meant. But of course, Melkor was Linqil’s uncle, too. He laughed softly and kissed Melkor’s cheek. “How does it feel to have a nephew?” Melkor still smiled. “Strange, but.. you told me so much about him, it is as if I know him already. He is Carnlóme’s son, you said?” “Yes.” “I bet, father wants to see you and doesn’t dare to come here.” Mablung saw, that Melkor felt uncomfortable at the thought. He wouldn’t want his old followers to see him like this – or get into a conflict of loyalties.

“Do you think, you could stand up and walk to the couch? So we won’t have to shout.” Melkor hesitated for a moment. “Help me to get up.” _I don’t fear him. He is very like you._ “Can you feel him?” Melkor shook his head. _But he played the last half-hour continuously._ “Well, I wouldn’t call it ‘playing’.” Linqil made an offended sound. “I told you, I had to improvise.” His hand still tapped a beat on his thigh. Mablung smiled at him. Linqil never had been able to sit still, he had always drummed around on everything, if it made a sound or not. 

“These drummers, ants in the pants, all of them.” Melkor laughed. _Don’t let Este hear that._ Mablung stared at him. “ _Este_ is the drums? That would never have occurred to me.” Melkor groaned when he sat down. Mablung noticed the way Linqil looked at him. “What?” “How do you do that?” “What?” He knew that he spoke Valarin. “To answer in another language than the one you are talked to. I’m happy when I get Quenya right.” Mablung realised only now that he had spoken Quenya with Melkor but Sindarin with Linqil.

“I never had difficulties with languages. I’m a Noldo”, he said and deepened his accent. “We are linguistic geniuses. Don’t you know that?” Linqil chuckled, he knew very well that Mablung only sounded like a Noldo, if he wanted to. “You’re said to have stated your petition for pardon in Valarin. I bet, that surprised them.” Linqil’s music was full of pride, Mablung lowered his head embarrassed. _Speechless_ , Melkor answered instead of him. “Mo thought it would be a good idea to give them an understanding of my love that way. I didn’t want to boast.”

“I know.” Linqil came around the table and sat on the armrest next to Mablung. “You always shy away from attention.” He put his arm around his shoulder and Mablung leaned against him. “I missed you, Linqil.” After the day with his parents, who had hidden their lack of understanding sometimes better, sometimes worse, Linqil’s unconditional love was like a balm. “I missed you, too. Will you two visit us soon?” 'You two', not only he alone. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Melkor is not allowed to leave Ilmaren and I can’t go away for too long, but your parents are always welcome here. Are you and Camquen still together?”

“Yes.” Linqil spread his fingers and showed him the slender golden ring. “We married, years ago. He finally let himself be convinced that I mean it.” “I’m happy for you.” Mablung turned to Melkor. “Camquen is much older than Linqil, he was of the opinion that Linqil couldn’t know yet if he really loves him”, he explained. He wasn’t sure if he had ever told him. “I’d loved for you to be there, but...” “I know, my boy.” Mablung embraced him. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to wait for me. Tell me what you are doing now. Where are you living?”

“In a part of Orome’s wood where many Sindar and Nandor live, it isn’t so different from Greenwood. We don’t have to go on patrol, but I’m out and about a lot with my father and the hunters. It’s a relief to know, that no spiders or wolves or orcs will ambush you.” He gave Melkor an apologetic look. “No offense meant, Melkor. And anyway...”, he shrugged, smiling mischievously, “somehow it makes it more dull.”

“I’m sure, your mother is glad that she hasn’t to worry.” “She still does. I might fall off a tree and break my neck.” Linqil rolled his eyes. Mablung laughed. “Believe me, Linqil, it never stops. Do you know, what my mother told me when I left this morning? ‘Take care and don’t ride too fast.’ Just tolerate it, it’s a sign of affection.”


	66. Chapter Sixty-Five

The air was cool up high and told of the autumn that was coming later to Aman than to the lands on the other side of the ocean. Melkor felt well enough to walk a little and Mablung had led him to a terrace that looked over Ilmaren’s garden. The garden itself was still too steep for him. Mablung led him to a bench, when Melkor became tired.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”, Mablung said and looked at the mountains with a smile. He had liked to live in the wood, or the narrow, green land along a river that was Diarat, but his heart belonged to the mountains – and these where the mountains of his youth. Melkor smiled gently. “I can imagine so well how you climbed around there and forgot everything else.” “It was my whole world.” Mablung took Melkor’s hand in his. “Many bad things happened when I left, but I can’t regret leaving. Not only because of us. I have seen so much in Arda, met friends I wouldn’t have met otherwise, I loved that land.”

“You would have stayed, if it weren’t for me. I’m sorry.” Mablung shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself for everything. Yes, I’d have liked to stay, but not as much as I wanted to be with you. And I don’t think that I will be unhappy here.” “You won’t be lonely at least.” Melkor leaned back slowly. “You have so many visitors.” “I only wish they wouldn’t all ask the same questions.” Mablung rubbed his forehead. It wore him out more than he wanted to admit to Melkor. “Can you blame them? They...”

Mablung looked around when he felt Melkor’s fear rise. Manwe stood in the open double door and looked at them. “He won’t hurt you, I promise. Do you want me to ask him to leave?” _Don’t make him angry._ Mablung squeezed Melkor’s hand. “I won’t. Do you want me to?” Melkor shook his head, his lips pressed together. _Better not. Stay with me._ Mablung embraced him and looked at Manwe who came over.

“I won’t hurt you, Melkor”, he said softly and leaned against the railing of the terrace a few steps away from them. “How is your back?” Melkor buried his head at Mablung’s shoulder. _Please, talk to him!_ “He is better now. Thank you for bringing his brace.” He would have been even gladder if they hadn’t taken it away at all, but he didn’t say it out loud. He wouldn’t get himself into an argument with Manwe, it had been enough for him to see him angry once.

“Of course. He is my brother. Melkor, I don’t want you to feel bad.” Mablung had started to hum softly, like he always did when Melkor’s fear became overwhelming. It was bad – but he felt Manwe’s pain, too. He believed him that he worried for Melkor, he wished, Melkor could hear it, too. ‘Does he know? That you can’t hear?’ Their bond was still so fresh that Mablung often didn’t succeed in talking to Melkor in his mind, but this time he heard. ‘No.’ ‘May I tell him?’ Melkor hesitated for a long moment, his muscles tense, then he nodded.

“Do you know that Melkor is... deaf?” “Deaf?” Manwe looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” “He can’t hear the Music anymore. Even I, with my limited abilities can hear more than him. _I_ can hear that you mean well, he doesn’t.” “That’s... I didn’t know.” Manwe looked startled. “But how? How can that be?” “I don’t know.” Mablung caressed Melkor’s back. “He doesn’t talk about it and I don’t ask. I just think, you should know, so you understand. I can’t imagine what that means for him.”

Manwe’s horror was almost a physical thing. “It’s awful. The thought of losing that...” He shuddered. “It’s, what we are.” “Do you now understand, why he can’t simply trust you?” “Yes.” A shadow went over Manwe’s face. “I know very well. Do you feel comfortable here, Mablung? I want you to be happy here.” “Thank you, aranya. I like it here, but it will take a little time until I get used to living here again.” It was no use to lie to Manwe. “Arda was my home.”

“If you need anything, let me know.” Mablung bowed as well as he could with Melkor in his arms. “You are very generous, aranya.” “You are my guest and the husband of my brother, it’s only fitting. I have to go back to work. Goodbye, both of you.” Mablung felt the tension leave Melkor when Manwe was gone. “It’s okay, he’s gone.” Mablung kissed his hair. _Thank you, Mablung._ “You don’t have to thank me for it, melindo. It is hard for you to talk to him, but not for me.” He had to be strong for Melkor, even though he was aware all the time, with whom he spoke. At least it was easier for him than for Melkor.

 

“Mablung?” Mablung turned around and bowed to Irmo, who walked up to him with fast steps. “I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a moment?” “Of course, herdir. Do you want to come to my rooms?” “I don’t want to frighten Melkor by showing up there. You don’t have to ask out of courtesy. It won’t take long. Come with me, I know a quiet place, where we can talk.” “Thank you, herdir.” Mablung was relieved and grateful for Irmo’s sympathy. “For what you already did for us, too.”

“You mean the dreams?” Irmo smiled. “I did it mostly for you, not for Melkor. But I would like to help him now, if you let me.” They walked a little until Irmo opened a door to a room full of musical instruments. “You are always welcome”, Mablung answered. “Maybe Melkor won’t fear you as much as the others because of the dreams.” “Maybe, but I didn’t mean it that way.” Irmo shook his head. “I wanted to offer, that he could come to my garden. I could help him. Of course, that would mean for you to be parted again.”

“How long?”, Mablung asked softly. “I can’t tell you. Maybe as long as it took to cause the damage, maybe longer, maybe not so long” “Or maybe he’ll never wake again.” “I didn’t say that.” “But you thought it. I’m Noldo, I know the history of my people.” Irmo sighed. “You mean Miriel. But Miriel decided to go to Mandos. Sometimes an elf decides that way, but Melkor doesn’t have that choice. Very few Ainur stay forever with me and Melkor has you, he will never leave you.”

Irmo’s gentle voice calmed Mablung, he was able to relax for the first time since he had set foot on Aman. “I think, it would be best for him and you”, Irmo continued. “It grieves you to see him like this and of course you want to help him, but you won’t be able to heal him completely, that just isn’t in your power.” Mablung sighed. He knew Irmo was right, although he didn’t want to hear it. Already, everything seemed too much to him.

“Thank you, for the offer, but I can’t decide. I’ll tell Melkor and let him go, if he wants it. Just, how do you want to help him, if he isn’t able to listen out of fear?” Irmo nodded thankfully. “I don’t ask more than that of you. Concerning my work: You’ll have to leave that to me.” Irmo’s blue eyes met with Mablung's. “You are welcome too, anytime, Mablung. I know of the dreams you dream.”

Mablung shuddered. “No, herdir. Thank you, but no. I can live with it and it would seem too easy to sleep and leave it behind. It is different with Melkor. His fear is so overwhelming and I can’t do much to lessen it.” Mablung blinked to drive the tears away. “I wish, I could do more”, he said hoarsely. Irmo put his hand on his arm. “Don’t blame yourself. It is not your fault. You already did so much for him. Let me help.” Mablung nodded. “I’ll talk to him.” Although the thought of having to let Melkor go, hurt his soul.

 

Melkor watched him closely. “You want me to go?” “No, I don’t want us to be parted again, but I think that you should go. I can’t heal you.” “You are helping me, too.” Melkor embraced Mablung and kissed him. “I couldn’t have touched you like this a year ago.” Mablung smiled gently. “I know, but I want you to be able to live without fear and I think, Irmo can help you better than I.” Melkor sighed. He knew that Mablung was right and he was grateful for Irmos offer, but he was afraid of it.

He would be at Irmo’s mercy, Mablung wouldn’t be able to defend him. He would have to leave his body and he knew that he was too weak to make a new one. Could Mablung love someone he couldn’t see, couldn’t touch? He didn’t want to leave Mablung, but he wanted that pain in his soul to stop. Irmo could heal him, Irmo would give him peace. “I wish so much, I could do more for you.” Mablung looked sorrowful. “You have done so much for me.” Melkor caressed his back. “Don’t blame yourself.”

Mablung nodded and smiled, because Melkor repeated what Irmo had told him earlier. ‘I wish, you didn’t have to go.’ “I’ll stay.” Melkor felt that it bothered Mablung more than he wanted him to know. “I can’t leave you again.” “You have to!” Mablung looked earnestly at him, but then he turned his head and whispered: “I’m not strong enough to help you. I could defend you in Imladris, but it is different here. I can’t take on your people.” “What are you saying? You defended me against Namo. Wasn’t that brave?”

“That wasn’t brave, it was foolish.” Mablung smiled sadly. “I was so afraid for you that I couldn’t think clearly, I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. I can confront my own kind, but not your siblings. I’m a servant, Melkor, I can’t defy kings. I can’t handle it in the long run.” Melkor knew how much it cost Mablung to tell him this. Mablung wanted to be strong for him, so he had someone to lean against. He hadn’t been aware of how much it fed on him.

“I’m sorry. It's my fault.” He turned away sadly. Why couldn’t he make him happy? “No! You make me happy, Melkor, more happy than I ever was without you. It’s worth it.” Mablung laid his head on Melkor’s shoulder. “But I don’t want to watch you suffering and being afraid.” Melkor kissed him gently. “I’ll think about it. I love you, Mablung.” Melkor pulled himself together. If he had to leave him, he wanted to leave him a memory. Mablung sighed softly when his kiss became more demanding and relaxed against the cushions.

_Let’s go to bed_ , Melkor said. “Gladly.” Mablung’s hand wandered down his back and closed around his buttock. _Do you have oil somewhere?_ Mablung held his breath, his eyes widened. “In my things”, he gasped finally. “I’ll have to search.” Mablung squirmed free of him and took him by the hand. “Come to the bedroom.” He wanted him – finally Melkor wanted him! He rummaged around his bag for the flask of oil, he carried around, just in case.

“Take me”, Mablung said and embraced Melkor. He didn’t feel fear from him and so he didn’t ask if he was sure. Melkor smiled and kissed him again as he opened his trousers. It felt so good to be with him like this. Mablung wished, it could have been always like this. At first he tried to keep still when Melkor undressed him and kissed his skin, laid him down on the bed. He didn’t want to frighten him, but...

Mablung moaned and buried his fingers in Melkor’s hair when his husband entered him with oily fingers. He wanted him so much, he had longed to feel him inside him for so long. Melkor prepared him with incredible gentleness and because Mablung knew, why he did it, he allowed it – although he longed to speed him up. Melkor hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you...” “I know.” Mablung kissed him passionately. “Come here, melindo.”

 

Mablung snuck into the bathroom. It was a wonderful feeling, the slight soreness between his legs. It wasn’t quite morning, the sky was still dark, apart from a narrow stripe in the east. Too early to rise, Mablung decided and crawled back into bed. Melkor looked at him, a silent question in his eyes. “It was wonderful”, Mablung murmured. “Don’t worry.” He wouldn’t say: ‘You didn’t hurt me.’ He wouldn’t lie.

His last time had been long ago, after all, but how should he explain to Melkor that the pain was the last thing that mattered in such a situation. How should he explain this feeling? Mablung snuggled against him and drew small circles on Melkor’s chest. “I was afraid to injure you”, Melkor said softly. “I know, that’s why I never pushed for it.” Mablung kissed him. “I only wish, it wouldn’t feel so much like goodbye. When do you want to leave?”

Melkor kissed his forehead. “Only when my back allows it. We have a little time left. You will bring me to Lorien?” “Of course, and I’ll visit you often.” Mablung pushed back the tears. “I love you and I want you to be able to be who you are, again. Without fear. Without having to bend. This time I know at least, that you’ll come back.” Melkor kissed him gently. “Always. I love you.”

 

~*~*~

 

Melkor sat on Mórhuin’s back, Mablung in front of him, his husband’s head rested on his chest. They wanted to be close to each other, as long as they could. Mórhuin’s step was slow and even, so his back wouldn’t be jostled too much, but he was still glad that he wouldn’t have to feel it any longer in a short time. He still hadn’t told Mablung, he didn’t know how to say it, but he would need to soon. He almost hoped that Irmo would do it for him. He was nervous. He trusted Irmo more than his other siblings, he had helped Mablung and him after all, but his fear was still there.

This fear that accompanied him everywhere. He needed to do this, he couldn’t ask of Mablung to shoulder his fear for him. His beloved relaxed noticeably when they entered Lorien. They rode through a light birch-wood, no border was visible, but one could feel it. Irmo’s influence made it hard to feel sad or afraid in Lorien. He was as present here as Namo was in Mandos, but Melkor felt strangely comfortable despite it. It confused him, he felt as calm as he would never have believed he could be in the presence of another Vala.

“Are you well?” Mablung turned his head and looked up at him. “Yes.” “You came.” Irmo stepped out of the trees. “Yes.” Melkor coughed to get rid of the lump in his throat and only noticed afterwards, that he had spoken out loud. Something, that normally was hard for him. “Find a place where you want to rest. I’ll come back, when you are ready. Take as much time as you need.” Irmo smiled at him and vanished again between the trees. Melkor dismounted and patted Mórhuin’s neck.

_Look after Mablung, my friend._ Mórhuin nudged him with his nose. ‘Gladly. Don’t take too long, he needs you so much.’ _I’ll do my best._ Melkor held his hand out for Mablung to take. “Let’s go.” They walked silently for a while, soon the trees became more sparse and opened to a blooming flower meadow, a brook meandered through it down to a lake, Este’s island was in the middle of it. “What are you looking for?”, Mablung asked, Melkor felt him becoming tired, it was hard for elves to stay awake in Lorien.

“I don’t know exactly.” Melkor smiled wryly. “But I think, I’ll know when I’m there.” It was beautiful here, peaceful. Even the prospect of haven to tell Mablung what would happen with his body was less terrifying. Everything was going to be alright. Finally Melkor stopped under a big, old oak that looked as if it stood here since the beginning of time and sat down in the soft moss that grew between the roots. “Sit down with me.”

Mablung laid his head against Melkor’s shoulder, a sleepy smile on his lips. Melkor would have liked to let him sleep beside him, he knew all too well that Mablung fought his own dark dreams, but he needed him awake now. “The time has come, Mablung. We have to say goodbye now.” Melkor kissed him gently. “I’ll miss you so much”, Mablung answered with hoarse voice. “I know, melindo, I wish, I could spare you the pain. I have to tell you something, Mablung.”

Mablung heard his serious tone and sat more upright. “I...” Melkor licked his lips. “I’m caught in this body since my power left me, but I’m not an elf, it’s still a little different. I’m going to fall asleep here, much deeper than normally, and I’m going to lose control over my body... it will vanish as if it had never been.” At least he hoped so. The thought of Mablung sitting crying next to his dead body made him feel sick. “I don’t want you to watch, Mablung, please, you have to go now.”

Mablung’s eyes were full of tears, when Melkor took off the necklace and laid it in his hand. “I’ll visit you, Melkor, I promise. I’m going to be able to feel you still, won’t I?” “Yes, you will. And Mablung...” Melkor licked his lips nervously again. He didn’t know how to say it. Elves were faithful to each other beyond death. Mablung had sounded so apologetical when he had told him about his human king. “It breaks my heart to think that you’ll be alone all this time. So, if an... opportunity arises, don’t stay alone.”

“Do you ask me to betray you?”, Mablung asked appalled. “How can you say...” “I _know_ that you love me, Mablung, that we are One, I can feel it. But you had a lover, who wasn’t the One, before me, why shouldn’t you have someone in this way, while I’m not there. It isn’t betrayal. I’m glad that you were so happy with Sharonn.” Mablung sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I just can’t imagine to love someone else, but I promise. Oh, melindo...” Mablung embraced him. “I’ll wait for you. Sleep well.”

He kissed him a last time, then he stood up and walked out into the meadow. Melkor watched him sit down next to the brook, his back to him. “It was good that you sent him away.” Irmo sat down beside him. Melkor started, he had appeared so suddenly. “Are you afraid?” “A little.” “Of what?” Melkor shrugged. “That you’ll take advantage of the power you’ll have over me. That I won’t have a body that Mablung can see. I don’t know if he can love someone he can’t see and I will never again be strong enough to make a new body.”

Irmo nodded slowly. “I’ll help you make a new one, when the time comes.” “Thank you.” Melkor closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart. He wasn’t sure if he even would succeed in leaving his body, he had worn it for so long. He tried to remember how it felt to be bodiless, to be able to take any form he wanted. For a moment he panicked when he lost control over his body and was stuck, not free, but no longer master over his body, then he let go completely and deep peace enveloped him.

 

Mablung sat in the high grass and threw stones into the water when Irmo found him. “How are you?”, he asked and sat down beside him. “Do you know how it is, to see a beloved person suffer and not be able to do anything?” Mablung ran his fingers through his hair. Irmo felt his despair. “Yes, I know. You don’t like Namo, that’s understandable, but he is my brother. To Know is a heavy burden and I can’t help him carry it, as much as I would like to.”

Irmo did understand Mablung’s dislike for Namo and he didn’t try to persuade him otherwise, not now. Namo had been cruel to Melkor, he had never forgiven him for rebelling against their father. “Namo does nothing without reason. He only acts when it is absolutely necessary.” “You aren’t the first, who tells me this, and I know that Melkor deserved punishment, but not like that. I can’t believe that it was right.” Mablung wrapped his arms around his knees. He sounded sleepy, elves did fall asleep easily in Lorien.

“I think, too, that it was too hard, now that I see him. But it is over, he has nothing to fear from us now.” Mablung shook his head and threw another stone into the water. “It will never be over. There will always be someone, who thinks that he doesn’t deserve to live in peace. I don’t know sometimes if I’m strong enough to fight on forever.” “My offer still stands. It would be good for you to stay.” Irmo put his hand on Mablung’s.

The elf shook his head. “I can deal with my problems myself, but thank you for you offer.” “As you wish. But you’ll stay the night? It’s late.” Mablung looked into the sky. “Yes. I would be grateful for a bed.” “Come with me.” Irmo led him down the stream to the lake where a boat waited for them. The gentle waves lulled Mablung into sleep.


	67. Chapter Sixty-Six

Mablung blinked sleepily. Where was he? “Yes... Lorien?”, he mumbled. Had he fallen asleep on the boat? He couldn’t remember coming here. Mablung yawned and stretched. He felt rested, his sleep had been deep and, as far as he could say, dreamless. A quiet pain sat in his heart, he missed Melkor, but at least he wasn’t completely gone this time. He could still feel him, softly, as if he slept, and he probably did.

Mablung dressed, someone must have undressed him yesterday, and went out of the room in search for breakfast. The house was quiet, nobody to be seen. “Here you are.” Mablung turned around, Irmo was closing up to him with quick steps. “I wanted to pick you up for breakfast. Did you sleep well?” “Very.” Mablung blushed. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It is hard for elves to stay awake here.” “I noticed.”

Irmo led him into the breakfast room that was more like a terrace, open to the lake. “Did you consider yet, what you want to do now?” Mablung shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t have time to think about it. For a start, I’d like breakfast.” Irmo smiled and let him eat. “If you want to, you can stay in my house – close to Melkor”, he finally said. Mablung looked surprised at him. “Thank you, I’ll think about it. You’ll see me often in any case. But first I have to visit a few friends. I fear, my appearance at the trial has alienated a few of them.”

Irmo laughed. “I think, the name 'Feanor' was used for comparison a few times. No one else has ever talked to us like that. But it was right. You did, what you had to do to save Melkor.” “Maglor, especially, was more shocked by ‘to save Melkor’, I think.” Mablung smiled wryly. “But I expected nothing else.”

 

Later that day, Mablung went on his way back to Ilmaren. It was far, but Mórhuin seemed to cover the distance much faster than he had been able to on Arda. The Taniquetil came closer much faster than it should have been possible. ‘We only stop for a short time in Ilmaren.’ Now, that Melkor wasn’t there anymore, there was no reason for Mablung to stay there. ‘Whereto then?’ ‘Tirion.’ He would visit Glorfindel, he hadn’t seen him since the trial. And after that, he would find out if Maglor was still talking with him.

He didn’t know what he would do after. Not moving in with his parents. His father had been glad to see him again, but even at his short visit they both had had to check themselves to not fight again. It wouldn’t go well if they lived in one house. He hurried to the room he had occupied with Melkor and packed a few clothes in his bundle. He was on his way to Tirion before anyone could approach him.

Again, the journey was over much faster than Mablung would have thought, but he didn’t ask, he supposed, that Mórhuin wouldn’t give him an answer he could understand. ‘You won’t come with me into the city, will you?’ Mablung dismounted before the gates of Tirion. ‘I don’t belong in a stable, you know that. I’ll stay close, just call when you need me.’ ‘See you soon.’ Mablung laid his arms around his neck and leaned his forehead against his warm fur.

‘Are you worried because of Maglor?’ ‘Yes, that too.’ Mablung sighed heavily. ‘Why can’t something be easy for a change.’ He didn’t even know, who was king. Arafinwe, or was Fingolfin back? And if he was, did he wear the crown, because he was the elder, or had he ceded it to his brother? Mablung shook his head. It was futile to worry about it. He pulled himself together and let go of Mórhuin. ‘See you soon’, he said again and walked into the city.

When he had visited his parents, he had been too nervous to observe how little had changed. He walked through the same familiar streets he had walked as a youth and stood soon in front of the house, where Glorfindel’s family lived, his feet had led him there on their own. Did Glorfindel even live here still? Mablung looked up the marble front. He remembered the feeling of not belonging here, when Glorfindel had taken him home for the first time.

Mablung grinned. They had climbed over the wall into the garden and from there through a window, no one had known then that they were together. He almost expected to see his younger self somewhere. He walked up the stairs to the door and knocked, his heart was racing. He was sure, that Glorfindel wasn’t angry with him, but he didn’t know if he would even be allowed to see him. “What can I do for you?” The elf, who opened him, didn’t show in any way if he knew him.

“I’d like to visit Laurefinde”, Mablung answered and easily fell back into the Quenya of his youth. “Is he here?” The elf looked him over and opened the door further. “Come in.” Obviously he wasn’t thought to be a disturbance. “Who may I announce?” “Mablung. He knows me.” Mablung caught the elf look sharply at him. The name meant something to him. Mablung didn’t know if the elf had served Glorfindel’s family before the darkness, but maybe he had just heard his name at the trial.

He led him to a parlour. Mablung didn’t sit down, he was too restless and he knew that Glorfindel’s father loved his precious furniture. “Don’t sit down unless he offers you a seat”, Glorfindel had hissed at him when he had introduced Mablung to his parents. It didn’t take long until he heard steps and the door was opened. “Mablung!” Glorfindel beamed at him. “How nice to see you! How are you?” Mablung let himself fall into the embrace. It felt so good to have him close.

“I manage.” His voice was hoarse. “Melkor is in Lorien, Irmo will help him.” Glorfindel’s embrace tightened and Mablung leaned his head against his chest. For a moment he allowed himself to forget that he wasn’t a boy anymore, then he moved back. “You moved in here?” “For now. I don’t know yet, what I’ll do. At first it seems as if the time stopped here. By the way, you sound as if you never left.” Glorfindel smiled wryly. “I feel like I’ve fallen out of time. My life moved on, but here... Turukáno is back, I already talked with him. Should my service belong to him or Elrond?

I swore fealty to both of them. Father wants me to stay, Laicalasse wants me to move into the palace, both would mean to choose Turukáno. Turukáno would like to have Elrond with him, but Celebrían lives at the edge of town. Elrond... Elrond never saw himself as a prince, even when he was Imladris’ Master. And if he would move into the palace, he would do so as Ereinion’s liegeman, or – and that would be even worse in Turukáno’s eyes – as Makalaure’s son.”

Glorfindel sat sighing and buried his head in his hands. “And I stand between them and don’t know what to do.” Mablung sat beside him. “You know what? I was never so glad to not be nobility. For me the only thing important at the moment is: Who is king? Is Fingolfin back?” “Yes, he is, but he ceded the crown to his brother. He apparently thinks that the one who never left should rule, but he is Prince of the Noldor formerly of Arda.

We aren’t as homogenous a people as some would like it. Many of the younger ones who were born on Arda speak little or no Quenya, and if they do, they speak it in a way that is strange to those who stayed. And some of the ‘Faithful’, they really have the nerve to call themselves that, refuse to speak Sindarin and don’t consider us Amanyar anymore. It’s seething below the surface and both Finwes are struggling to not make anyone feel discriminated.

And that doesn’t even include the Sindar and Nandor, who often don’t have a very high regard for the Noldor in general, or the Angband-Elves, who have chosen Ecthelion as their leader, or the orcs on Tol Eressea.” Glorfindel seemed to be on the verge of tearing his hair out. “To be honest, I understand, why Celebrían decided to stay out of this.” “Angband-Elves?”, Mablung asked with raised eyebrows.

“They call themselves that. Ecthelion says, they consider themselves to be a people beyond ethnicity and the fact, that they were eyed warily after the war, and still have to fight against prejudices, has strengthened that feeling.” “I understand.” “Do you? I don’t.” Glorfindel shook his head. “You don’t simply stop being Noldo or Sinda, or whatever.”

“I always thought of myself as being Noldo, but that was maybe because I didn’t have much contact to other slaves when I belonged to Melkor – and later Thranduil didn’t let me forget, what I was. But I don’t only have my birth parents, I was adopted by Nandor and when we came to Greenwood and Oropher showed his contempt for me, my adoptive father said, that he would have gone with Finwe, if he hadn’t fallen in love with his wife. Our ancestors decided what leader they wanted to follow, that was the origin of our peoples. But does that mean, we have to stick to it?

Look at Elrond. He isn’t human, despite having human blood in his veins, and he decided so himself. Is he a Noldo, because his grandmother on his father’s side is Itarilde, or Sinda, because his grandfather on his mother’s side is Dior? Or is it the fact that he calls Makalaure and Maitimo his fathers that make him a Noldo? ...or that he swore fealty to Gil-galad? And regarding my comrades from Angband: There never was this deep split between Noldor and Sindar that Thingol made, because we couldn’t afford it. We were simply Quendi, one people, and we spoke the Quenya of the Orcs. Does it surprise you that they wanted to retain this social cohesion? Especially if they were looked down on?”

“You’re probably right.” Glorfindel leaned back. “But that doesn’t answer my own problem.” “What do _you_ want? If you forget politics for a moment, what would you want to do?” “To live with Laicalasse in Elrond’s house”, Glorfindel answered immediately. “And does he know that?” Glorfindel shook his head. “And it wouldn’t help to tell him. He won’t leave Turukáno, it is beyond all question for him, who my loyalty should belong to. I... he thinks, that I’m here, because I dread the bustle at court.”

Mablung laughed. “ _You?_ Laurefinde, the peacock of Tirion? Ehtele and you could never have enough of being in the centre of attention. He really did buy that?” “I must have looked distraught.” Glorfindel smiled wryly. “And we all changed.” “Yes, I know.” Mablung bumped their shoulders together. “I wasn’t serious. You know, that you have to tell him eventually? And have you asked Elrond, what _he_ thinks of it?”

“Elrond says, that he would appreciate my help, I’m not the only one who would like to have something like Imladris here, but that I have to decide for myself. He says, I’m his friend, not his subordinate. What will _you_ do? Will you move in with your parents?” Mablung shook his head decidedly. “Emya would be delighted, but it wouldn’t work. I visited them after the trial, and father and I really made an effort, but we were close to shouting at each other a few times. I’m not a child anymore, if I would life at home again, we soon would be where we were when I left, or worse.

But Ilmaren... I can’t life there, now that Melkor is gone. That’s too... high for me. I’m a servant, that’s part of my personality. Irmo has offered me to stay on the island, but I don’t know if it would be good, to be so close to Melkor all the time. I would never stop waiting for him to wake. Maybe I’ll move to the wood, to my other parents. But first, I have to put a few things right. Do you think, Makalaure will see me?”

“He won’t bite your head off.” Glorfindel shrugged. “But what he’ll say to you, won’t be very friendly, probably. He looked like Feanáro when he saw you in this uniform and you _and_ Elrond spoke for Melkor. I’ve rarely seen him so angry. Where are you going to sleep tonight? I can have made a guestroom ready.”

Mablung nodded gratefully. “That would be wonderful. I... probably I would have slept outside, I don’t mind.” “Certainly not! You are my guest. Do you want me to come with you to the palace?” Mablung shook his head. “I think, I’ll better do this alone.” Glorfindel had enough problems of his own – and he was no longer a child that hid behind his older friend. “And I think, I’ll go now or I won’t do it at all.”

 

Maglor let him wait. A servant had led him to a parlour where Mablung now walked up and down restlessly. Was he doing it on purpose? Did he want to show him how angry he was? Mablung gritted his teeth. He would be loath to lose Maglor’s friendship, but he cherished Melkor’s love beyond everything and what others thought about it was unimportant. He turned around, when a door opened. _He looked like Feanáro_ , Glorfindel had said, now Mablung understood, what he had meant. Maglor’s eyes burned with wrath.

“What were you thinking?”, he snapped at him. “Moringotto! And thanks to you he is more or less free! You can’t believe that he changed one bit!” “I know that he has”, Mablung answered calmly. He knew, if he let himself get angry, he would lose out to Maglor. “We are One, Makalaure. I know that he isn’t as he was.” “So what? What he did to my family...” “Has nothing to do with me!”, Mablung interrupted him.

‘He didn’t force you to attack the Teleri and bring Mandos’s curse on us’, he thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to hurt Maglor. “I know, Makalaure. I was there.” “And still you expect me to forgive him?” “No.” Mablung put his hand on his shoulder. “No, I don’t expect that. But you are my friend and I hope you can accept that I love him.”

Maglor huffed. “You are lucky, that I didn’t catch you after the trial. I’m still angry – you should have told me! – but by now I think... to hate Melkor is part of the Oath and I want no part of the Oath. But he killed my grandfather! And what he did to Russandol...” Maglor clenched his fists. “I can’t forgive him.”

“And I don’t ask you to do so. What use would it have been to tell you, when we met? I thought, I’d lost him forever. Maybe you feel satisfaction at the knowledge that he suffered.” Maglor nodded. “I heard, what Elrond and the other healer said. You _are_ my friend, Mablung, and I remember the time we had together fondly, but I don’t want to see _him_.” “You don’t have to.” Mablung looked away. “He is in Lorien now, Irmo has offered to help him. I don’t know when I will see him again.”

Maglor embraced him. “My heart bleeds for you, but I can’t feel sorry for _him._ What will you do now?” Mablung shrugged. “Go to Alqualonde, I think. I had friends there, before, I owe them at least an apology.” Maglor grimaced sympathetically. “That’s very brave of you.” Mablung shook his head. “It’s the least, I can do.” He didn’t have to say more, Maglor knew how it was to live with the guilt, even more than him.

“And you? How is it to live her, after all these years?” “It was strange at first. Of all my brothers, only Telvo lived when I came back. I cried when I saw him.” Amrod had died in the flames that had destroyed the ships of the Teleri. “Mother was overjoyed to see me, and my uncles received me with goodwill. But there were, there are, voices that say that I got away to easily. I made myself scarce for a time, I didn’t want to provoke anyone. But by now I feel at home again.”

“So they are all alive again?” When he had met Glorfindel in Imladris, he had been surprised, but rebirth seemed to be quite normal here. “No. A few of my brothers are still in Mandos and... there is little hope for my father.” Maglor looked at him again with that flaming glare. “That’s why Melkor’s pardon angers me so. They forgive him, but not father?” “Little hope is better than no hope.”

Mablung dreaded the thought of Melkor and Feanor meeting, but he _was_ Maglor’s father. “I don’t think that they will banish him to Mandos forever. You are released from your oath and how likely did you think that?” Maglor smiled wryly. “You are right.” Mablung saw him perk up suddenly. “I never noticed that you use þ. I didn’t expect that of someone so young.“

Mablung laughed. „I caught that from my telerin friends. Father hated it for reasons I didn’t understand back then, but… I always wanted to sound like the people around me, I like languages – and I liked to annoy my father. Then, in Angband, they spoke a kind of Quenya that did sound much different of what I was used to, but they had retained the þ-sound, too. I can agree with your father on this: It sounds better. Quenya is my mother-tongue and I want to speak it properly, without making it a political statement.”

That made him laugh. “So you _are_ a real Noldo after all.” Maglor looked out of the window. “It's getting late. Will you stay for dinner? I’m sorry that you had to wait so long, but I was composing and the servant didn’t dare to disturb me.” “I’m not surprised by that.” Mablung knew from experience that Maglor reacted annoyed when he was torn from his creative moments. “I wondered if you let me wait intentionally. I’d love to eat with you.”

“Then come.” Maglor led him down a hallway to his private rooms. “Make yourself comfortable and get yourself something to drink.” He pointed to a couch in front of a fireplace and pushed a bunch of sheets of music together, that littered the table. “I’m with you in a moment.” Mablung helped himself to a glass of cider and looked around. It was obvious that a musician inhabited this place, a lot of instruments, carefully wrapped in protective cases, stood around.

“By the way”, Maglor came back and fetched a glass of his own. “Who taught you to speak Valarin? The horse?” “Mórhuin? No, he only provided opportunity to practise.” Mablung rolled the glass between his hands. “Melkor taught me, in Angband.” “But how did you learn it? You sounded like one of them, at the trial, and they were as surprised as me if I’m not mistaken.” “You speak it, too.” Maglor huffed. “I can sing a few songs and make myself understood, when I have enough time to prepare, but I’m far from speaking it fluently. I don’t know an elf who can, so, how do you do it?”

“I have an advantage...” Mablung didn’t want it to be generally known, but keeping it from Maglor would feel like a lie. “I can hear the Ainur, their... souls.” Maglor stared at him speechlessly. “That’s... how?” “I don’t know. It simply happened. Maybe... someone wanted me to understand Melkor?” “You think, Iluvatar gave you this?” Maglor laughed surprised.

Mablung shrugged. “I don’t know. But if it was fate that I met him... I just don’t have a logical explanation for it.” They were interrupted by a servant, who told them that dinner was ready and Mablung followed Maglor to the next room. He hoped, Glorfindel wouldn’t take it amiss that he ate with Maglor.


	68. Chapter Sixty-Seven

At first he had wanted to call Mórhuin to bring him to Alqualonde, but then he had decided to walk. Although the occasion for his journey was a sad one, he did want to use it to make himself familiar with his home again. He had known this way along the river like the back of his hand.

He had learned to ride on these meadows, had caught trout from the river and there was the path that led into the mountains, where his cave was. Mablung hesitated, but he resisted the temptation. Maybe on the way back, first he had to do penance and it was questionable anyway if the path to it was still free, so late in the year. It had snowed far down in the last week.

It started to rain after two days, he had to spend a miserable night outside and cursed himself for not riding. Was it Ulmo, who wanted to punish him for his deed? Mablung shook his head. The Vala hadn’t shown in any way that he resented him. It was just a normal autumn rain.

Wet and frozen he arrived in the city on the fourth day. It was market day and despite the bad weather there was a crowd. Mablung plodded over the square in a depressed mood. He had seen the memorial when he had come off the ship, it showed a dying elf in the arms of a crying woman. An inscription lamented the massacre and showed the names of all the killed Teleri.

Mablung knelt in front of the stature and paused with downcast gaze. “I wish, I could undo it”, he murmured. “I don’t even know your name. I’m so sorry.” He started to sing the Noldolante with soft voice. Maglor had written the verses that bemoaned the tragedy in Telerinquenya. A fitting gesture, Mablung thought.

 

Mablung jumped when someone laid a blanket around him. He was shivering with cold, the market had been disbanded long ago and the people had left without giving him more than a glance. “Do you intend to kneel here all night, Mablung?” He looked up at the Teler, surprised to hear his name. He realised that it was almost dark.

“How do you know my name?” The silver-haired elf smiled. “We sailed together when we were young.” “Oh.” Mablung searched the Teler’s face for familiar features. “Damrod?”, he finally asked uncertainly. “Almost, the younger brother.” “Díriel?” “Yes, and now come.” Mablung stumbled to his legs, a thousand glowing needles seemed to stab into his skin, he wasn’t used to kneel for such an extended time anymore.

Díriel caught him. “You are icy cold. I think, you can use a warm dinner. Why are you doing something like that?” Mablung sighed when they walked into Díriel’s home and warmth embraced him. “Sit down and drink the tea.” He pushed a cup into his hand and sat down opposite him. Mablung warmed his hands on the earthenware.

“When we heard, Damrod and I, that you had left...” Díriel shook his head. “You always said how much you liked sailing, that you feel free then. We weren’t surprised that you wanted to leave, but why this terrible bloodshed? You must have known that it wasn’t right!” “I got into it without meaning to. One moment, we were on our way and the next everyone around us fought. I didn’t know what happened, I was frozen with fear.”

Mablung looked at the steaming liquid in his cup. “And then... there was this elf who wanted to stab Laurefinde in the back and I... I couldn’t think clearly. I wanted to save Laurefinde... and my knive stuck in the belly of this elf. I’ll never forget his face.” Mablung sobbed. “I wish, I could make good for it. It’s said, that it’s forgiven, but for me... it’s not over.”

“And that’s why you freeze yourself to death out there? I watched you from my workshop all day. At first, I thought you just were a mourner, sometimes people come to lay down flowers at the monument. I heard you sing, but when you didn’t leave, I looked closer at you.” Díriel turned his cup between his hands. “I might not have recognised you, if your name weren’t on everyone’s lips. To threaten Namo with a sword...” He shook his head.

“Why did you come? This memorial won’t grant you forgiveness.” “I know.” Mablung sipped at his tea. “Can _you_ forgive me.” Díriel looked sternly at him. “All of us lost family and friends in that night. I remember father rushing in to fetch his bow and ordering mother to hid with us in the pantry, it’s made of stone. Damrod was furious because he wanted to fight, but father didn’t let him.

‘You are too young’, he said. We were lucky, father got away only lightly injured, but an uncle and two of my cousins died by the swords of the Noldor and my father’s sister burned with her three little children because she couldn’t get out of her house.” Díriel closed his eyes, tears streaked his cheeks, his hands grasped the cup so tightly that his knuckles went white.

“I can still hear the fight and the crackle of fire and I remember the fear that father won’t come back. I hated you all. I hated _you_ because you were our friend and you should have known better. And when I heard what Earendil told of your fate, I thought it just that you had to suffer.” A cold fire burned in Díriel’s eyes.

“You are right, it is forgiven. But it is one thing to say that you should be allowed to return, a completely other one to forgive someone you called your friend. You might have murdered one of my relatives, and if not, there’s still a family who lost someone because of you. They were reborn pretty soon and you might not have wanted it, but that doesn’t change the horror of the night. They say, you were a slave, but if you fell in love with Melkor, it can’t have been that bad.”

Mablung didn’t contradict him. It felt wrong to protest, he said that himself after all to not hurt Melkor. He had told himself again and again: ‘It’s not so bad.’ Just to survive another day. He understood Díriel’s anger. “How can I make amends? Why did you bring me up here?” Mablung wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “Because I pitied you, kneeling out there – and because you should ask the living for forgiveness, not a statue. Tell me about Angband, tell me everything.”

Mablung gulped, then he nodded. Díriel wanted to hear about his suffering. So he told him, bluntly, everything he never told anyone when he was asked about slavery. Of hunger and thirst and cold. Of the feeling of humiliation when an orc grabbed him and pushed him against the next wall to rape him. Of the day, Melkor had shared him with his generals and the days when he had been at Sauron’s mercy.

Díriel listened with stony face, he didn’t interrupt him. “I don’t want your pity”, Mablung said finally. “You are right, I betrayed your and Damrod’s friendship and if you wish it, you shall have satisfaction. However you see fit.” Díriel smiled wryly. “I don’t think the king would like that. If it came to light that we took justice in our own hands, it wouldn’t go well for us, especially in such a politically loaded matter. But I might have an idea.” He sounded much more friendly than before.

“You can stay the night and tomorrow I’ll drum up the others and we’ll talk about it.” Mablung bowed his head. “Thank you, Díriel.” “Don’t thank me too early.” Díriel stood up. “Are you hungry?” Mablung nodded, he had last eaten this morning. Soon they shared a pot of soup. “Aren’t you married?”, Mablung asked. Díriel shook his head. “I like to be alone. It... just never happened. Damrod is married, three children.” Mablung was relieved, that Díriel didn’t ask about his relationship with Melkor. He didn’t want to talk about it now.

 

When Mablung woke the next day, he heard male voices from below. He had slept on Díriel’s couch, his back ached from the uncomfortable pose. He stretched to loosen his cramped muscles, then he put on shoes and walked downstairs. Four men stood in Díriel’s workshop, he was carpenter and boatbuilder, they stopped talking when Mablung entered the room.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, heruvinia.” They stared at him, Damrod snorted. “‘Heruvinia?’ You serious? We are fishers and craftsmen.” “I just wanted to be respectful. After all, I want to gain forgiveness, if not regain your friendship.” “Díriel said so.” Damrod shared a gaze with his brother. “We just talked about it.”

“Do you know what a blood dept is?”, one of the others asked, Mablung thought he recognised Falastan. “Do we talk about orcs here?” Mablung knew the word. “Yes, we trade with them. We learned a few things about their culture. Díriel had the idea that we could to ask for recompense in this way. A year of service, three months for each of us. Do you agree?” “Of course. I want to do penance. If that is to be my punishment, I’ll accept. Do you count the years in the old way?”

“No”, Damrod shook his head, “not since a long time. We are talking about a sun year.” “Would be a year with each of you be more reasonable then? I’m not a fisherman and much less a carptenter. Three months are nothing, I only would be a burden.” The four Teleri shared glances. “We wondered...”, Díriel answered. “But we thought you wouldn’t want to be away from... your partner so long.” “He’s in Lorien.” Mablung looked down. “We are parted either way, for now. Let’s make it four years.”

“Good." Díriel smiled at him. "You’ll start with me. Can you stay immediately or do you have to go back?” “I’ll need to get my things. I didn’t intend to stay so long. Three days.” If he rode Mórhuin, he would easily make it in that time to Ilmaren and back. “And if you don’t want to be called herdir, how should I address you?”

“With our names?" Lastalaica looked at him with incredulity. "We aren’t at court and you aren’t a slave or something. Or you could address us as malkonia if you insist on a formal address” “If we weren’t ready to forgive you, we wouldn’t agree to this. Don’t be so submissive", Díriel said.

Mablung nodded with a wary smile. “I just fall easily back to familiar behaviour. I _am_ a servant.” “I bet your father would be delighted to hear. Haven’t you always said, you don’t want to serve?” Lastalaica’s eyes danced with mirth. “Opinions change.” Mablung shrugged. “A lot happened in the time I was away.”

 

Mórhuin didn’t keep quiet about his opinion of Mablung’s idea, but he hadn’t been able to dissuade him. He had given his word to his former friends and he would come back. He was glad that he met no one he knew when he walked to his room in Ilmaren. He just wanted to pack a few things and disappear again.

He knew that this wasn’t very polite, but he didn’t care to discuss this thing with Manwe, he was sure that the Vala wouldn’t approve. The Kinslaying of Alqualonde was forgiven, what they intended to do undermined Olwe’s and the Valar’s authority in a way.

He hurried to pack his remaining clothes and was just wondering, his hand on the dark wood of the box, if he should take the shackles with him, when he heard someone behind him. Mablung turned around at the same moment that Reviahûn made a sound in his throat to draw attention. “You are leaving us? And without saying goodbye? I’m disappointed.”

Mablung cringed. “I didn’t want to have to discuss my decision.” “Where are you going to?” “Alqualonde. I can’t stay here, Reviahûn, I don’t belong here.” “Has anyone made you feel that you are not welcome here? Manwe wouldn’t like that.” “No.” Mablung shook his head. “It’s not your fault. As long as Melkor was here, I liked to live here. You were all very kind to me. But... Reviahûn, I’m just an elf. This is too big for me. I have to... rediscover my home first.”

“And you start in Alqualonde of all places?” Reviahûn looked at him intently. “What’s behind it?” Mablung squirmed, but he couldn’t lie to him, he would notice. “I have to pay a debt, Reviahûn. I had friends there and I want to try to save this friendship. That’s important for me, Reviahûn, and it won’t happen in passing, if at all. I agreed to solve this the way orcs solve a blood debt. I’ll serve each of them a year.”

Reviahûn laid his hand on his shoulders. “Be careful. Many Teleri still are out of sorts with Noldor, especially those that took part in the kinslaying.” “I’m aware of that, and that’s why I have to go. I was their friend, I betrayed them. Do you understand?” Reviahûn nodded. “I’m still sorry that you are leaving. I hoped, we could be friends again.”

“I’d gladly be your friend, Reviahûn. You can visit me, for your kind, distance doesn’t mean much here, isn’t it so?” Reviahûn smiled. “That isn’t the same as having you here, but I’ll visit you. If have to be sure that you are alright.” “I’ll be alright.” Mablung embraced him. “See you soon, my friend.”

 

~*~*~

 

Mablung lifted his head when the bell at the workshop door rang and smiled at Reviahûn. He had anticipated him earlier, the way he had talked, but for a Maia a few weeks were not much time. Reviahûn shook the soft snow, that fell outside, from his cloak. “How can I help you, herdir?” Did Díriel realise who he was talking to? “I want to visit Mablung.” Reviahûn’s eyes searched his and Mablung put the plane aside. “Díriel, allow me to introduce Reviahûn.” He saw Díriel perk up, he seemed to know the name. “He is my friend.”

“You have unusual friends.” The Teler lifted an eyebrow. Mablung laughed. “My father said that too, when I started to talk Telerin.” “I bet he didn’t mean it as a compliment.” He patted his shoulder. “You can go up with him.” “Sure? I mean...” Mablung looked at his work. “You shouldn’t make a Maia wait. But if you want, you can tell him to not come at working hours the next time.” Díriel winked at him. “I’ll do that.” Mablung was glad that they could be so easy with each other. After Díriel’s words in the first night, he had feared worse, but they worked well together.

“Let’s go up.” Mablung led Reviahûn upstairs. “A fine day you chose to travel.” The snow fell more heavy now. “I had time today.” “Do you want tea?” “Yes, thank you.” Mablung poured two cups and sat down at the dinner table. “How are you?”, Reviahûn asked. “Fine.” Mablung smiled into his tea. “I maintain a low profile, I don’t want everyone to know why I’m here. My friends don’t have an interest of it being publicly known either, it could lead to problems.”

“Olwe wouldn’t be pleased. Manwe isn’t either, by the way, but he realises that it is your wish and so he allows it.” “He’d better.” Mablung glared at Revaihûn. “It’s _my_ life and I intend to live it the way I want. If I weren’t Melkor’s husband, Manwe wouldn’t even know who I am.” “Ah, that’s it, isn’t it?” Reviahûn watched him knowingly. “That’s why you said, you don’t belong in Ilmaren.”

“Can you deny that I only lived there because I’m married to Melkor?” “No, although I would have invited you to live with me either way. But I think I understand what you want to say. No one would have cared about what you are doing, if you weren’t Melkor’s husband, so they’ll better don’t do it now.” Mablung smiled wryly. “You can say it that way, yes.”

Reviahûn squeezed his hand. “I hope you know, that I’m not here on Manwe’s wish. You are my friend and this friendship didn’t develop at the wish of my Master.” “I know.” Mablung wrapped his hands around Reviahûn’s long fingers. “But that was long ago. What makes you so sure that you want to be the friend of the person I have become?” Reviahûn cocked his head. “I don’t think you changed much. You grew up and your life is now happier, I hope.”

“Yes, yes it is. I miss Melkor, but...” Mablung gulped, the tears were never far away when he talked of Melkor. “But I know that Irmo will help him and so I bear to be parted from him.” “And these Teleri?” Reviahûn seemed to listen to Díriel downstairs. “We are a little cautious around each other, it isn’t always easy, but it was the right decision.” “How did you befriend them in the first place? Tirion isn’t close.”

“It was coincidence. When I was a boy, I was always in the mountains, for days, for weeks. I found a pass that led me in the vicinity of Alqualonde and I met these two brothers who sat at a stream and were fishing. We met often and they introduced me to their two best friends. We spent so much time together. It was with them that I swam in the sea for the first time. They taught me to sail. We jumped off the cliffs into the water and made driftwood fires on the beach. I don’t know why, but I liked them so much more than the children of father’s friends.”

Mablung laughed softly. “Dìriel is right. Father wasn’t pleased that I befriended children of fishermen. He wanted me to play with nobles, but when I brought Laurefinde home, he didn’t like that either.” Reviahûn looked surprised. “He didn’t like Laurefinde?” “He didn’t like that I claimed to love him. Father is one of the people who thinks that you should have sex only with one person and that this person surely isn’t of the same gender as you. We fought so much.

I tried to be out of the house as often as I could, with Laurefinde or my friends here. These elves are among the most important persons in my life. I threw their friendship away in that night, but I won’t give it up without a fight.” “I can understand that. It’s something worth fighting for. They’ll forgive you, everyone, who has eyes, can see how sorry you are.” “But sometimes that just isn’t enough.” “And that’s why you are here now.” Reviahûn kissed his cheek. “You’ll be friends again, I’m sure of it.”

“Reviahûn?” Mablung was a little embarrassed to ask. To bother a Maia... but Reviahûn had said that he was his friend. “Please, play for me?” Reviahûn laughed and his amusement could be heard in his music, too. “You don’t have to feel embarrassed, Mablung. What would you like to hear?” He held a violin in his hand, just so, as if it had arisen from the air. “Doesn’t matter. What you want.” Reviahûn nodded. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” “Just do it.” Mablung obeyed and reclined. The first tunes sounded and Mablung flew away with them. He floated high above the word, the wind painted patterns into the green grass. He followed a river, blue glittering water under him, until he reached the mountains where it came from. High above the treeline and still further up to the highest peaks, where even the summer sun couldn’t melt the snow. His wings carried him over the heights, down on the other side of the mountains and along the sea, the surf crashed on the shore.

Mablung felt the spray, the sun set behind the mountains and let the sea glow fiery. Night came and the moon, big and full, rose in the east, dipped the tips of the waves in silver light. Slowly the music faded, Mablung blinked and looked at his hands that clutched the cup, surprised that he even _had_ hands. “That was...”

Reviahûn chuckled. “You have to expect something like that, if you ask a Maia to play for you. You are a good listener, you give much back. Do you play an instrument?” Mablung shook his head. “Maglor taught me to play the harp when we lived together at the sea, but... that was long ago and I never was very good at it.” “Hm.” Reviahûn tapped the bow against his lips. “The harp seems not completely right. Something with strings, surely, but... I may be biased but maybe the violin would be right for you. Here.”

Reviahûn held out his instrument and Mablung reached for it on instinct. “But, Reviahûn! I can’t...” “Of course you can.” Reviahûn laughed and walked around the table. “I don’t give her away lightly, you’ll know that, but it’s okay for trying something. Stand up.” Mablung obeyed embarrassed. He felt unsure. The neck of the violin felt so fragile in his hand. Reviahûn showed him the right posture and helped him gently, it felt strangely familiar.

Mablung’s fingers found the positions for playing a scale by themselves. Reviahûn lifted an eyebrow. “I had violin lessons when I was a child.” Mablung looked away. “My parents forced me to it, I hated it, like everything that kept me inside. And I was soon sick of having to practice scales all the time, but something stuck it seems.” Reviahûn grinned at him. “Let’s see what else stuck.”

Hesitantly Mablung lifted the bow but before he could play a single tune, Reviahûn held him back. “You are too cramped. Relax and let the music flow.” Mablung didn’t argue, although he was sure that it wouldn’t work that way for him. He breathed deeply and relaxed deliberately before he tried again.

To his surprise, he coaxed a clear note from the violin that was followed by a second and a third. His body remembered the many hours he had practiced. He shouldn’t be surprised, he still spoke Telerin fluently, after all, although he hadn’t spoken it in ages.

“Very good.” Reviahûn sounded pleased. “When I come next time, and I’ll come regularly now, I’ll bring you an instrument.” Mablung stared at him. “But... what?” Reviahûn took his violin back. “I’ll teach you. It can’t be, that the only elf who speaks Valarin fluently, doesn’t play an instrument. You have talent, you wouldn’t have learned Valarin, if it were otherwise.” “But I’m too old to learn that.”

Mablung knew, he shouldn’t argue, it was an honour, but... “Nonsense. And don’t worry”, he winked at him, “you won’t have to do scales all the time. I have to talk with Manwe, but I think, I’ll can manage two times a week.” Mablung nodded, resigning himself to the fact, that this was decided without him – and it felt good to know, that Reviahûn thought him worthy of his lessons.

“But remember to only come after work. I’m not here to laze about.” “Of course. You don’t work on Valanya, yes? I’ll come on that day and once on an evening.” Mablung’s most prominent memory of violin lessons were cramped fingers and a stiff neck but he was sure that it would be different with Reviahûn. “Very well”, he sighed. “But don’t be angry, if I’m not as good as you think.” Reviahûn grinned at him. “I won’t be angry, but you won’t fail my expectations, I assure you.”


	69. Chapter Sixty-Eight

_Year 3_

Mablung stood behind Lastalaica’s stall and scaled their catch while Lastalaica haggled with his customers. It was early morning, the sun was only just rising, but they had been up for hours, the day of a fisher started early. It didn’t bother Mablung. He had went to sea with Falastan in the last year, he was used to being on watch. It had been an interesting experience, he had come far south, where the sea had a deep turquoise colour, and had seen the glowing seas.

There were islands in the south where shells with a special colour were washed up, Falastan had travelled down there because of them. It had been an eventful year, but he knew now that he wasn’t made to live on a ship. He was glad to be on firm ground at the end of the day again.

“And who are you?” He started when someone addressed him. “Didn't I see you at Díriel’s workshop before?” “That might be”, Mablung answered and stood up, he didn’t like how the other towered over him. “My name is Mablung.” “You don’t sound like a Sinda.” The Teler looked warily at him. “I’m not. I’m a Noldo.” “Why do you use the Sindarin form of your name?” It sounded like an accusation, Mablung thought that a bit thick.

Most Noldor who had been born on Arda had Sindarin names. The Sindarin form of his name was more familiar to him than its Quenya equivalent, he even used it when he spoke Quenya. “I didn’t want to deceive anyone”, Mablung answered respectfully. He didn’t want to get Lastalaica into trouble. “I’m just used to speak Sindarin.” “I’m surprised that you associate with someone like this, Lastalaica, especially you.” Mablung knew that his friend had lost two older brothers at the kinslaying.

“Mablung is an old friend of Díriel and me”, Lastalaica answered. “Do you want to buy, Veandur, or just insult my friends?” Veandur huffed and made to turn away as suddenly recognition showed on his face. “You are the one who defended Melkor! Namo said...” He stared at him with hatred. “Do you know that he took part in the kinslaying?”, he snapped at Lastalaica. “Of course I now!”, his friend shot back. “That’s why he’s here, he’s paying his debt. And now leave us alone.”

But Veandur wasn’t inclined to listen. “Is that so?” He seized Mablung’s shirt and pulled him over the table. “You can continue paying your dept with me, Noldor scum.” Mablung remained silent. He could have fought back, but he didn’t. Even when the Teler lifted his hand to strike him. They had attracted enough attention, he wouldn’t antagonise the watchers by fighting against his just punishment.

“Stop it, Veandur. Leave the boy in peace.” Mablung turned his head. The elf who pushed through the crowd was tall and had the air of someone who was in charge. And his face... Mablung felt like the ground was falling out from underneath his feet. He would never forget this face. “Boy?” Veandur huffed. “Hardly, if he is one of the murderers.” “But he was a boy than, am I right?” His eyes were of a light green and looked deep into Mablung’s soul. “Let him go or I’ll ban you from the market.”

Veandor pushed him away and Mablung would have fallen if Lastalaica hadn’t caught him – he could only stare at the elf. “May I take him away for a moment, Lastalaica? We have to speak.” “Of course, Ómalingwe.” Lastalaica stared at Mablung. “Come, boy.” Ómalinge laid his arm around his shoulders and led him to the memorial. Mablung was crying.

“I’m so sorry, herdir”, he sobbed and knelt before him, his forehead touched the elf’s feet. “I... if I had know your name, I would have come to you long ago. Please, punish me as you see fit. What I did... I can never atone for it.” “Nonsense.” Ómalingwe sat down on the stairs of the memorial and embraced him. “I was one of those who voted for helping you. I remember you as well as you seem to remember me. You stared at me with big, horrified eyes. And the last words I heard were yours. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want that.’ How old were you then? Thirty?”

“Nineteen”, Mablung sobbed into Ómalingwe’s shirt. “Nineteen...” The Teler shook his head. “What should I hate you for? For wanting to protect your friend? For getting into something that you didn’t understand and that you weren’t responsible for? I forgive you, Mablung.” Mablung couldn’t stop crying. The shock of seeing him so suddenly and the relief about his words were too much.

Ómalingwe patted his back. “It’s okay”, he murmured. “Everything’s okay. Revenge is for people who can’t forgive – and they are wrong. Thoughts of revenge eat at you until there is nothing left.” Mablung moved back a little and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry... that was unseemly.” He realised, he had fish scales on his hands and blushed. “And now I covered you in scales.” “Never mind, Mablung. Do you have nightmares?”

“Yes.” Mablung sniffed. “I will never forget the wrong I did.” Ómalingwe kissed his forehead. “Be free of pain and dark dreams”, he whispered gently. Mablung smiled, it warmed his heart, although he didn’t believe that it would change his dreams. “Thank you, herdir. I can’t tell you how much your forgiveness means to me.” Mablung bowed deeply to him. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his soul. The kinslaying had been a shadow over his whole life.

Ómalingwe laid his hand on his hair. “I understand, you are paying a blood dept here, yes? I should tell the king, especially as it is about me.” “Please don’t.” Mablung was startled. “Lastalaica and the others were my friends, before... before the kinslaying. It is less a punishment than an opportunity to regain their friendship. I don’t want them to get into trouble.”

Ómalingwe nodded. “Very well, I’ll ignore it. Come to dinner one of these days, I’d like to know you better.” “Gladly.” Mablung bowed again before he went back to Lastalaica. “How do you know the harbourmaster?” Lastalaica stared at him. “Ómalingwe is the harbourmaster?” Mablung looked around, but the Teler had already vanished in the crowd. “You didn’t know?” Lastalaica shook his head. “Veandur, at least, won’t bother you again. What did he want?” “To tell me that he forgives me.” Mablung looked up to his friend. “I killed him.” “Oh.” Lastalaica embraced him. “I’m happy for you. I know how important this is for you.”

 

~*~*~

 

“...and then she said: ‘Why are you speaking so funny?’ When I pride myself on my origin not being hearable.” Mablung laughed with his friends, although it had nettled him a little when Damrod’s granddaughter had said it. “Children and fools tell the truth.” Falastan chuckles. “Your noldorin pride can take to be knocked out of the skies now and then, Master ‘I-speak-Valarin’. Although your Telerin is quite good... for a Noldo.”

Mablung bumped his shoulder against his friend's and drank from his wine. They celebrated the end of the four years. “What will you do now?”, Díriel asked. “I don’t know yet.” Mablung leaned back. “I’ll visit Melkor in Lorien and then... I think, I’d like to stay here.” “Why?” Lastalaica looked surprised. “Not, that Alqualonde isn’t the most beautiful city in the word, but your family... one of your families lives in Tirion, the other in Laiquanan. And Reviahûn surely will be glad if he hasn’t to fly so far.”

“Oh, it doesn’t bother me”, Reviahûn said. They had long ago accepted him as part of their group, he visited Mablung twice a week, after all. “It’s a welcome diversion.” ‘What are you running away from?’ Mablung shivered when he addressed him in his mind. ‘Maybe from the people’s expectations? My parents expect me to come home. Glorfindel expects me to move in at Elrond’s house – another kind of escape if you ask me, I don’t think that they can live independently or unaffected of the court in the long run, but that is their business.

My nephew... my nephew thinks me a hero, but I’m not – and I’m not a Nando. It was ease to act as if I were, when we lived in the Greenwood, so far away from the memories, and maybe it worked exactly because Thranduil never let me forget that I’m  a Noldo. It is different here, of course I could live in the wood, but... Greenwood was my home, Laiquanan isn’t. I don’t have a place there. Linqil is grown up, he goes his own way, he doesn’t need me and his mother is finally united with her beloved.

I would only be in the way. But I don’t belong at court either, that was only ever the wish of my father. Melkor will come back sooner or later, I can’t be in the service of the king of the Noldor then, it would make everything more complicated than it is already. Here... I don’t belong here either, but no one is expecting it from me.’ ‘You could come to Ilmaren.’

Mablung put his hand on Reviahûn’s arm. ‘Thank you for saying that, but I belong there even less than anywhere else. What should I do there? Sit around and wait for Melkor?’ He realised that his friends had become silent and were watching them with a look in their eyes, that told him that they just had remembered what Reviahûn was. He realised that he hadn’t answered Lastalaica’s question, not audibly.

“I want to stay, because I’m comfortable here, with you all, and Ómalingwe offered me a job.” Mablung shrugged. “I think, he feels responsible for me. Not, that I would complain.” “Well, I’m glad that you want to stay”, Díriel said and pressed his hand. “For whatever reasons.” And with that the conversation turned to other things.

 

_Year 120_

Mablung walked to the tall, blond woman who stood at the pier and looked at the sea. “Ómalingwe says, they’ll arrive late.” Galadriel turned around and smiled at him. “I know, but... I want to wait here. I’m happy, that my husband is following me. I don’t have to tell you, what such a separation means, do I?” Mablung shook his head. He often visited Melkor and told him of his live here, although he didn’t know if his beloved could hear him in his sleep.

“I heard, you spoke for the dwarf.” It had taken longer for the ship to arrive than was usual, the Valar had been split over the question, if a dwarf should be allowed to live in Aman. “This friendship between Gimli and Legolas is something special. If they don’t want to part, no one should force them to. I know Gimli, I looked into his heart and saw nothing there that is said of dwarves.” “Prejudices are there to be refuted”, Mablung answered with a wry smile. “I say that as a Noldo who lives with Teleri.”

That made her laugh. Mablung continued: “I’m glad that they decided this way. Legolas is like a son for me, I saw him grow up, and I’m very happy to see him again.” Galadriel regarded him. “So you are this Noldo, Thranduil thinks so much of? I didn’t know.” “Even Thranduil had to accept that prejudices aren’t always true.” Mablung winked at her.

“They didn’t decide yet.” A wrinkle showed between Galadrie’s eyebrows. “I’m worried.” “They decided to let them come. They won’t throw him back into the sea. The most they can do, is to not allow him to move about freely, but I don’t think they will do that. I have to go back to work now. Why don’t you come with me to the office? It’s warmer there and you can watch the harbour from there.” “Thank you.” Galadriel smiled at him. “But I’ll stay here.” “As you wish, aranel.”

Mablung bowed and walked back inside. The sun was already vanishing behind the mountains when Mablung felt the presence of someone powerfull. He stood up and walked to the window. “Are they here?”, Ómalingwe asked and stool up, too. “Not yet, but it can’t be long now. Aule is here.” Mablung dressed in a cloak and walked out to greet the Vala. Aule talked to Galadriel and nodded at Mablung when he saw him. “I heard that you live here now, Mablung.”

Liriel or Mo must have told him, he wrote letters with both of them. “You know Legolas, Artanis tells me.” “He is my chosen son. I hope, he won’t be punished for his decision.” Aule shook his head. “No, of course not. A few of my siblings have yet to be convinced, but they’ll come around.” Mablung smiled to himself, he felt Aules barely hidden excitement. This was the first dwarf he met since he had made their ancestors.

Of course, Aule would do everything to make him at home here. Mablung’s gaze turned to Ómalingwe who knelt at the water edge and listened to the squeaks of a dolphin. Mablung had been surprised when he found out that his name ‘Who talks to fishes’ was true. Strictly speaking, dolphins weren’t fish, but you could overlook that. “They will soon be here, my friend says.” Ómalingwe stood up and came over. “An hour maybe. Do you want to come to the office, Herunia?”

Aule shook his head. “It doesn’t bother me to wait outside. The setting of the sun on the waves is a beautiful sight.” They stood quietly for a moment and watched the sun setting fire to the waves. Finally a sail came in sight and when the ship finally landed, Mablung couldn’t believe that they had made it in this cockleshell. “Legolas!”, he called at the elf, who walked onto the pier with unsteady legs.

“Mablung!” A glow came to Legolas’ face. “I’m so happy to see you!” Mablung embraced him tightly. “You don’t know how happy I am that you made it. A dwarf, Legolas? What were you thinking?” Legolas’ eyes twinkled. “He is my friend. Do _you_ want to chide me for it.” Mablung smiled wryly. “No, you are right. I just worried for a time that you wouldn’t arrive because of him.” He saw Legolas pale and hurried to say: “But now everything is well. Is that him?”

The dwarf watched him with clever, dark eyes. “Yes, that’s Gimli Gloinsson. Gimli, my chosen father, Mablung.” “I’ve heard much of you”, the dwarf answered, his Sindarin had a foreign accent. “Only good things, I hope. Come, I’ll introduce you to Aule.” The Vala had restrained himself tactfully and let them have their greeting. Mablung saw Galadriel embrace Celeborn. “He is here?” Legolas paled again. “Of course, what did you think? He insists on welcoming one of his children in Aman.”

Mablung grinned when he saw Gimli straighten up and stroking his snow white beard. Aule sounded nervous when Mablung led them over. “Herdir, may I introduce to you Legolas Thranduilion and Gimli Gloinsson.” Gimli bowed deeply and when Aule greeted him in a language, Mablung thought to be Khuzdul, he tugged at Legolas’ sleeve. “Come, let’s leave them alone, this is a great moment for both of them.”

“He talked of nothing else the whole journey.” Legolas laughed. “When I offered him to come with me, he said: ‘I’m so old, it’s high time for a last adventure and if I meet my Maker, all the better.'” “Then he has, what he wanted – and Aule, too.” Mablung sat on the steps of the memorial and Legolas settled, too, after a long gaze at the inscription. “I can’t believe that I’m here.” Legolas shook his head. “You’ll get used to it.” Mablung laid his arm over his shoulders.

“Yes, you are here and that makes it feel more like home already. It was hard to leave my family behind.” “They didn’t want to come?” “You know father! And my siblings are still happy in the wood. It were the gulls, Mablung.” Legolas looked at the sky where a bird sailed over them. “They woke the longing for the sea.” “Do you want to stay in Alqualonde?” “I don’t know, yet. I’m a Sinda, father always prided himself of the kinship with the Teleri.”

Legolas turned around and traced the names of the dead with his fingers. “But I’m a Nando, too, like my mother. The wood is a part of me – and honestly, father was always more linked to the wood than to the sea. I don’t know, if he ever saw it.” “I never asked him.” Mablung leaned back on his elbows. “In Laiquanan, that’s a part of Orome’s Woods, life many Sindar and Nandor. You’ll see many familiar faces there, but it’s far from the sea.”

Legolas looked at the darkening waters. “I’m not so sure if it was longing for the sea, or if the sea just called me home. Don’t we all have this longing, even those of us whose ancestors didn’t follow the call?” Mablung squeezed his shoulder. “Maybe. You are here, and that is all that matters. You’ll find the place where you’ll feel at home.” “And you? What’s with... with...”

“Melkor?” Thranduil must have told him. “He is sleeping in Lorien, healing. The Valar pardoned him. You’ll get to hear the story. I’m living in Alqualonde at the moment, my old friends forgave me.” “I’m happy for you.” Legolas gaze turned to Gimli and Aule. “What are they going to do with him?” “They won’t hurt him, I’m sure of it. Look at Aule! He won’t let him get hurt.” Aule vibrated with energy. “He will want him to live in his house, you’ll see.”

Mablung stood up, when Galadriel came over, her hand in the crook of Celeborn’s arm. “I’m delivering the invitation of Olwe to be his guest tonight, Legolas. You can travel on to Valmar tomorrow.” Legolas looked surprised at her. “He is my Grandfather, Celeborn and I will live here for now.” Mablung chuckled when he saw Legolas blush.

“Galadriel is half Teleri, although Thranduil likes to ignore that. And talking of things your father is ignoring. Telerin is a Quenya dialect and although it is an intermediate between Quenya and Sindarin, it is more like Quenya, so don’t be surprised if you don’t understand a thing. Many people speak Sindarin here, but it isn’t everyday language.” Legolas grinned. “If father knew that I have to learn Quenya... Will you come with us, Mablung?”

“Of course he does”, Aule answered for him. “I have the order of your sister to bring you to Valmar, if you want or not, and I don’t intend to let you out of my sight. You might vanish and what am I to tell your sister then?” He winked at him. “That sounds like her.” Mablung laughed. “I cede.” He didn’t say that Aule could find him anywhere. He hadn’t seen Legolas for such a long time, he didn’t need an excuse to stay at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dates I'm using here are counted from the year Mablung came to Aman so its basically the same as Fourth Age, but I didn't want to use that term. Why would the elves of Aman count the years after something that happened on Arda?


	70. Chapter Sixty-Nine

_Beloved,_

_today I watched you make your pottery, again. You radiate so much peace that envelopes everything that is near you. I admire how your hands can make art out of a lump of dirt. I love to watch you. A ray of light fell on your hair and let hit glow golden like the corn on the fields of Yavanna. Ears, golden like your hair. Poppy, red and soft like your lips. Cornflowers, the colour of your eyes. Think of me when you look at the garland, like I thought of you when I made it, and I will be happy. I wish to be able to stay longer and watch you, but my Master calls and I have to follow. I will carry your image in my heart, until I see you again. Sun on your hair, clay on your hands._

_I love you._

Mablung grinned at Galathil as he read the letter. “So you have a secret admirer, yes?” Galathil blushed. They sat on the upper floor of Galathil’s house in Laiquanan. Mablung had been visiting his family. “Yes.” “And you can’t figure out who it is? He is watching you.” “He knows what he does, I never catch him depositing the letters. They are all like this.” “And do you like that?” Mablung sometimes couldn’t make sense of his friend. His time in Angband had hurt him.

“I don’t know. It is... I like it. He writes so romantic things and... as long as its only letters, I’m not frightened, but...” “But. I understand.” Mablung patted his hand. Galathil had been so young when the orcs killed his parents and made him a slave. “You do, but no one else.” Galathil shook his head sadly. “I’d rather stay alone than be hurt again. Most elves don’t understand that love is something that can be feared.”

“But you don’t know if he thinks the same. Are you sure that it’s a Him?” Galathil nodded and Mablung continued: “He seems to be shy, or he would talk to you in person – or maybe he realises that you experienced bad things. How do you want to know that he doesn’t understand, if you don’t give him a chance to prove the opposite.” Mablung’s gaze darted over the letter, he thought he recognised the hand, but he didn’t remember where he could have seen it. “I have the feeling, that I should know him, but...” Mablung shook his head.

“I’m not sure if I even want to know.” Galathil smiled wryly. “For now, I can dream up anything. If I knew, who he is... that makes it real.” “Who says that the reality is not as good as a dream?” Mablung shook his head. Galathil didn’t answer but asked instead: “And you are going to help Laiglas with apple picking this year?” “Yes, it sounds like fun. Are you sure that you don’t want to come with me. Silwen and Lantelen will be there, I know that they are your friends.”

“ _They_ are.” Galathil shook his head and embraced himself as if he were cold. “But Mormirion will be there, too, and I don’t want to see _him_. _”_ “Mo has a heart of gold, Galathil”, Mablung said gently. “Has he ever hurt you?” Galathil shook hishead. “But he is one of _them_. I don’t fear him, but I don’t want to be close to him.” “Lantelen is one of ‘them’, too.” Mablung knew the tall half-orc from another visit.

“That’s different. Garam... is half an elf and he was a slave, he knows how it was. Of course I would like to see Silwen and him, but not if Mormirion is there, too.” “I’m sure, Mo will keep as far away from you as possible. He knows how you feel.” Mablung took his hand tighter. “You are coming with me, Galathil, at least for a few days. What you are talking yourself into is nonsense.” Galathil opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Mablung smiled at him. “We’ll have a lot of fun, you’ll see. It will be good for you to be around people.” “I am around people!”, Galathil protested. “Yes?” Mablung lifted an eyebrow. He had noticed that his friend’s house was quite a distance from the center of the settlement. “I’m not the social type”, Galathil grumbled. “I like to have my peace.” “They think you to be the eccentric artist, don’t they?” Mablung had seen his works, beautiful sculptures of glazed clay. “Don’t be like that.” “Okay, okay! I’ll come with you.” Galathil laughed. “Are you always so persistent?" “Only if I really want something.” Mablung grinned at him. “You are important to me, Galathil.”

 

Galathil didn’t have a horse but Mórhuin could carry them both. “How does that work?”, Galathil asked surprised when he noticed how fast they were. Mablung shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a Maia thing. Mórhuin can’t or doesn’t want to explain it. Just accept that distance isn’t the same for Maiar as for elves.”

They arrived at Sinthur’s orchard when the sun was at the zenith. Mablung heard his friends laugh from afar. They sat outside for lunch. Silwen’s children noticed them first and came running. Mablung smiled to himself when Galathil dismounted and embraced both children. It had been good to force him to come, he looked happy. Mablung waved to the others who looked around. “I brought someone along”, he called.

He wondered where Mo was, he didn’t see or sense him. Because Galathil was busy with the children he walked over and whispered to Laiglas: “Where is Mo?” “Working. Some big project. He’ll come in a few days.” Laiglas looked at Galathil. “How did you persuade him? He’s never here, when Mo is.” “I know. I pestered him until he relented. But you have to speak with Mo. It would be best if he just ignored him.”

“I think so, too”, Silwen said. “Galathil is a little complicated.” She smiled at Mablung. “Thank you for dragging him along. It’s so sad how he hides in his wood. And the children love him.” “I understand why he is so reclusive.” Mablung didn’t say anything about the letters. He didn’t know if Galathil had told them. “Come eat”, Silwen called her children and Galathil dragged them with him, one clinging to each leg. “Hello.”

“Hello, Galathil.” Silwen kissed his cheek. “Nice to see you.” “You can thank Mablung for it.” Galathil blushed. “He persuaded me.” “We know.” Laiglas poured both of them a cup of cider. “Anyway, it’s nice that you are here. Mo is only coming in a few days, you don’t have to look around like that.” Mablung saw Galathil relax with a sigh.

 

Mablung sat between the highest branches of an apple tree and plucked apples. It was evening, golden light all around him. Mablung leaned back against the trunk and enjoyed the special moment. He felt as if he were standing in an artwork. “Mablung?”, Laiglas called up to him, a full basket on his back. “Are you coming? Dinner is ready.” “I’m almost done.” Mablung balanced himself and reached for the last two apples.

Lagilas grinned happily when Mablung landed beside him. “Mo is coming today, finally.” “I’m happy for you.” Mablung lifted his basket. He hoped that Galathil wouldn’t be too frightened – or Reviahûn. The Maia found him everywhere when it was time for their lesson. Mablung always carried the violin he had given to him with him. He'd nevere have thought that he liked to play so much. “Come, or the others will eat up everything.”

Mablung laughed and followed him to the house. He could feel Mo from afar and looked out for Galathil but his friend was nowhere to be seen. Laiglas embraced Mo with a happy cry and Mablung smiled at him before he walked past them into the house. “Where is Galathil?”, he asked Silwen who helped Laiglas’ father with the meal. “In the other room.” He saw the worry on her face. Mablung walked into the living room and found Galathil on the couch, his knees tucked under his chin.

“It’s okay.” Mablung laid an arm around his shoulder. “Everything’s okay.” Galathil leaned against him. “I shouldn’t have come.” “Nonsense. We had a great time until now, didn't we? Don’t let it be spoiled. Mo is busy with Laiglas anyway, he doesn’t see anyone else.” Galathil smiled weakly. “You might be right.” “Come. Dinner is almost ready.” Mablung stood up, Galathil took his hand with hesitation but let himself be pulled to his feet.

“I’m here, Galathil. Concentrate on me, you don’t have to talk to Mo if you don’t want to.” Galathil nodded. “Thank you, Mablung.” He always insisted that he wasn’t frightened of Mo, that he just didn’t want anything to do with him, but Mablung knew that it wasn’t that easy. Laiglas and Mo sat at the table already, Mablung felt Galathil tense when Mo’s gaze fell on them. Mablung shook his head silently and Mo nodded. He understood, Laiglas surely had warned him.

Mablung made a point of talking to Galathil and Silwen followed his lead. There was much to tell, they didn’t see each other often. Mablung didn’t hold Galathil back when he vanished after the dinner, normally they remained seated and talked, but he knew what it cost him to be in one room with Mo. He just wanted to address the matter of Reviahûn’s coming, when he knocked on the door. “That’s for me.”

Mablung opened the door for the Maia. “How are you, Mablung?” Reviahûn embraced him. “Well. I’ll visit Melkor after this is over and then I’ll go back to Alqualonde.” He missed him so much, Irmo had told him that it was good that he came so often. Melkor couldn’t hear what he told him, but he felt that he was there. Reviahûn patted his shoulder knowingly. “Mormirion is here, isn’t he?” Of course he could feel him. “Yes.” Mablung watched him closely. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” The memory of the mines sounded in Reviahûn’s music, but he didn’t sound angry. “Mormirion was never cruel.” He smiled wryly. “And I heard so much about Asea Mahan, that I can’t be angry with him. I know that you are friends with him, I won’t raise trouble. Did you have time to play here?” “Of course, always. I take that time.” Mablung knew that it only made sense if he played every day and he didn’t intend to waste Reviahûn’s time by being lazy.

Mo nodded to Reviahûn when they walked through the kitchen to get to the living room. _“Good evening, brother.” “Good evening.”_ Galathil started when they came in, he sat at the window and sketched a new sculpture. “I can go somewhere else if I’m in the way.” “You aren’t in the way.” The house was crammed, he and Galathil slept in the living room and he wouldn’t chase him away when Mo was sitting in the kitchen. It didn’t bother him to play in Galathil’s presence.

He took his violin from its box and tuned her, before he loosened his fingers with a few scales. He winked at Reviahûn. Scales still weren’t his favourite pastime but they made the fingers flexible. Reviahûn leaved through the notes, Mablung had with him. “We’ll start with this one.” Mablung scanned the sheet of music. The Music filled him, flowed through him as if he were the resonating body, not the violin.

Sadly, he wasn’t perfect, he could hear it and Reviahûn would hear it even more acutely, but he let him finish the movement. “That was good, but you became too fast at the end. Let’s do the last part again.” “Yes, my finger’s just aren’t fast enough.” “Try it more slowly.” He said that often to him. “I know that it isn’t easy for you, with your gift.” When the Music filled him, it was hard for Mablung to play difficult parts slowly, because the Music wanted something else. “Concentrate on each note, not on the melody as a whole.”

 

“Can we speak somewhere in private?” Reviahûn wished that Galathil weren’t in the same room. Mablung wouldn’t want anyone else to know, what he had to tell him. Mablung packed the violin away, they were finished for today. “That’s difficult. Let’s get outside, we’ll have our peace there.” He looked at Galathil who sat at the window. “Will you be rigth on your own?” “Of course.” Reviahûn could feel how agitated the elf was. It was because of Mormirion, that surprised him a little. Everyone who knew Mormirion, spoke highly of him.

“It’s about your gift”, Reviahûn said after they had left the house. “We were interested of course. Manwe investigated. Do you know that you have a greatgrandmother who had a child from an unknown father?” Mablung laughed softly. “Grandmother Finya. Yes, I know. My parents didn’t want me to meet her too often, they thought, she would have a bad influence on me. But as I was often wandering around alone, I visited her now and then.”

“Has she ever told you about the father of her child?” Reviahûn looked nervously at Mablung. Did he know? Surely not, he would react otherwise if he did. “No. When I was a child it wasn’t important, and later she never talked about it.” “Manwe visited her. He thought that you might have a little Maia blood and just don’t know about it. She told him...” Reviahûn swallowed. He wouldn’t like it. Mablung gripped his arm. “What, Reviahûn? What did she tell him?”

“Then he called himself Mairon, but...” “Sauron!” Mablung stared at him with wide eyes, his music was like a storm. “He raped her?” “Finya says no. He addressed her when she met him in the woods. He was friendly, unbelievable, I know. She wanted it.” “So I’m... How can that be, Reviahûn? I would know if Sauron were my greatgrandfather!” Mablung was pale and trembled. “It can’t be. Finya has to be wrong.”

Reviahûn embraced him. “It’s true, I fear. Don’t worry, Mablung.” He kissed his temple. “You aren’t like him, not in the least.” Mablung looked into his eyes. “Who else knows about it?” “Only Manwe and me and we won’t tell anyone. It’s your business.” “Thank you. I... I have to talk to Finya myself – as soon as possible.” Reviahûn held him in his arms. He had known that it would unsettle him, how couldn’t it? But he had a right to know. “It doesn’t change, who you are, my friend.”

 

It just started to dawn when Mablung reached the border of Lorien. He had brought Galathil home and set out very early. ‘Thank you for carrying me, Mórhuin.’ Mablung patted his neck. Mórhuin gave him a mental slap on the back of the head. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know that I’d carry you anywhere. Call me, when you want to go back. Take your time.’ ‘Aren’t you coming with me?’ ‘No.’ Mórhuin nudged him with his nose. ‘You want to be alone with him. I’ll visit him another time.’

‘Thank you, Mórhuin.’ Mablung adjusted the violin case on his back and stepped between the  trees. Dew glittered on the grass when he reached Melkor’s place. He felt Melkor clearly here, his heart made a joyful leap. He loved it to be here, even though he couldn’t see him. “I miss you so much, melindo.” Mablung unpacked his violin. He always played for Melkor and he didn’t care who else listened.

He spent the whole day under the tree and told Melkor everything he had done since he had visited him last. Just not about Sauron, he couldn’t say it. Mablung pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around his legs. The idea that Sauron was his ancestor made him feel sick. “You are nothing like him”, Reviahûn had said, but what might sleep within him? When evening came he walked down to the lake. He would stay a few days and take Irmo’s hospitality. Although he didn’t come here to sleep, Lorien made him come to rest and he needed that now.

 

“You are becoming quite good.” Mablung lowered the book he had pulled from the shelf and looked at Irmo. “You heard me play?” He felt himself blush. Irmo nodded. “Of course. It is good for Melkor when you play.” Mablung looked embarrassed at the floor. “I’m still learning. Reviahûn is teaching me.” “You have talent.” ‘And a Maia for an ancestor’, Mablung thought. Sauron was a violinist, too.

“What’s wrong, Mablung?” Irmo’s music was worried. “Something is bearing you down.” “It’s nothing.” He couldn’t talk with Irmo about it. “You can tell me everything, that’s what I’m here for.” Mablung smiled weakly. “It’s nothing, herdir, but thank you.” “He is related to Sauron and he doesn’t like it.” Mablung stared at Namo, who had appeared from thin air, he was speechless with anger.

How did he dare to give away his secret. How did he know anyway? Irmo, who seemed to fear that he would go for Namo, held him by the arm. “You self-righteous...” Mablung clenched his fists. Irmo turned him to the door. “Let it go, Mablung.” Mablung nodded. “I’ll leave, I can’t be in one room with him.”

“That was unnecessary!”, Irmo snapped at his brother when Mablung was gone. “He dislikes me anyway. It doesn’t matter.” “And that’s why you had to tell me his secret? How would you feel, if I would tell him your secrets?” Namo stared at him. “You wouldn’t!” “No, of course not!”, Irmo answered, still a little harshly, but he could never be angry at Namo for long. “Mablung has enough problems as it is. Do you have to make his life more difficult? Why did you do that?” Irmo knew his brother better than most but sometimes he couldn’t figure him out. Namo just shrugged.

 

Mablung stormed around a corner and almost crashed into someone. “I’m sorry!” He froze when he recognised the Maia. It suddenly hit him where he had seen the handwriting of Galathil’s letter. “You!”, he said. “You are writing these letters to Galathil.” Sinthoras looked surprised. “You know about it?” “Galathil showed one to me. I thought, I knew the hand.”

Sauron and Namo were wiped from his thoughts. He hadn’t seen Sinthoras often since he was in Aman. The Maia served Namo and seemed to be happy. Mablung gripped his shoulders. “You have to tell him, Sinthoras!” “I can’t.” Sinthoras shook his head. “How could I face him, after all I did?” Mablung felt his love, his despair.

“He is infatuated with you, because of the letters. How do you think he will feel if he someday finds out on his own?” “If I tell him, he will hate me.” Mablung felt with him, but when he thought of Galathil’s feelings... “He is frightened, Sinthoras, he is so afraid of physical intimacy. Do you hope, that you can make him forget, who you are, with these letters?” He shook his head. “He will never forget. Don’t let him dream any longer, it only makes it worse for both of you. Come clean with him. I know that you love him, but... you owe that to him.”

He was torn when it came to Sinthoras. He owed him much, but he knew also that he was partially at fault for Galathil’s fears. Sinthoras lowered his head. “I’ll think about it. How are you?” Mablung shrugged. “I miss him, but it isn’t as bad as before. I know that I’ll have him back – and I can feel him.” He put his hand on his heart. “I’m happy for you, Mablung. I hated him for a time for... what happened. But I’m glad that you found each other.”

Mablung could understand him. Sinthoras had been Melkor’s best friend and Melkor had sentenced him based on a rumour. “I just wish that Galathil could forgive me like you forgave Melkor.” Mablung sighed. “Galathil is... he doesn’t even want to think of you – or anyone else he could feel lust for. It’s the sex.” “I don’t want sex. Not at all cost, at least. I just want to be with him.”

Mablung looked sternly at him. “I can understand that you want to hope, but your case is completely different from Melkor’s and mine. I always loved Melkor, you have to convince Galathil first that he can love you.” Sinthoras looked away. “And would you like that?” Mablung shrugged. “Galathil is my friend, I want him to be happy. I like you, I know that you wouldn’t hurt him. I think you could be good for him, if you can reach him.”


	71. Chapter Seventy

Sinthoras stood between the trees and watched Galathil’s workshop. He would be in there at this time af the day, making pottery. Was Mablung right? Did he hurt him with his letters, because they let him hope? That was the exact opposite of what he had intended. Sinthoras was afraid to show himself to him. He knew, how Galathil felt for him, but... He trusted Mablung’s judgement.

He took a deep breath and walked into the clearing. What would he think, when he saw him? And when he told him who had written these letters... “I’m coming!”, Galathil called from the back, when he entered the showroom, a bell announcing him. Sinthoras’ stomach clenched. Galathil’s inviting smile froze, when he saw him, he made a terrified noise and stepped back.

“Galathil...” Sinthoras reflexively reached out with his hand but then let it sink. He mustn’t touch him, it would only make things worse. “How dare you come here!” “I...” Sinthoras swallowed, he felt Galathil's fear and the hatred that lay under it. “Mablung told me to come.” “Mablung?” Galathil shook his head. “He wouldn’t, he knows...” “He knows that the letters come from me.” Sinthoras closed his eyes. He had said it.

Galathil’s music flared in a mixture of horror, fear and hurt. “No”, he sobbed. “No!” “I’m so sorry, Galathil.” Sinthoras’ voice was hoarse. “I didn’t want to give you pain. I just hoped...” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I hoped. I’m sorry.” “Go away”, Galathil whispered. “Don’t ever come back. I want no business with you.”

“Galathil...” Sinthoras’ heart bled. It pained him to see him like this – and it was his fault, that he was this way. “Leave me alone!” His voice cracked with panic and Sinthoras knew that he mustn’t stay any longer. He bowed and left the shop.

 

Galathil sank to the floor in tears. Why had it to be Gothmog of all people who wrote him letters like this? He, whom he couldn’t believe the words of love. Why couldn’t he ever have a little luck? He had hoped that he had finally found someone, who could maybe understand him – and now it turned out to be the enemy, who had made fun of him. Why had he done it?

He closed the shop with trembling fingers. He couldn’t see anyone now. He staggered up the stairs and crawled into bed. He had enough of the world for now.

Galathil woke sweaty and crumpled, eyes gummy, because the bell rang. A customer stood in front of the locked shop. Of course, he had announced himself to collect a set of cups. Sighing he smoothed his clothing and walked down. He felt terrible. “I’m sorry for the delay. I had work to do and forgot the time.” His voice was hoarse and hurt in his throat. “You want your cups, red glaze, yes?”

The customer nodded. Galathil opened the door from the outside. “Come in.” Galathil’s hands trembled when he wrapped the cups and accepted the money. When the customer was gone, Galathil sat behind the counter and laid his head on his forearms. Would he come back? Did he watch him and gloat over his despair? But Mandos wouldn’t allow that, would he? Galathil went to his workshop, in the hope that it would calm him to make a new work.

 

Galathil froze, when he saw the letter that lay white and obvious on his windowsill. He had had a few days of rest, but now Gothmog seemed to have decided that he would continue. Galathil’s fingers trembled when he lifted it. He didn’t want to read it, didn’t want to know what Gothmog had to say, but the letter wasn’t sealed and opened on its own.

 

_Galathil,_ he read,

_I decided to write you one last time. After this letter, you will never hear of me again. I’m sorry for giving you pain, now and in the past. I wish, I could undo it, but I can’t turn back the time. I love you, Galathil, and I hoped, that you could love me too, through the letters. I hoped, that you could ignore, who I have been. I was wrong, you will never forgive me and I won’t impose myself on you any longer. I dreamed, but the dream is over now._

_Farewell, Galathil._

_Sinthoras_

It was strange. He was relieved that it was over, but at the same time it made him sad. A part of him had believed Gothmog, even when he had already known who had written the letters, and this part didn’t care that it was Gothmog. The letters had been so wonderful. Someone, who wrote such wonderful letters, couldn’t be evil. Galathil shook his head. No, Gothmog had had slaves, he had liked it. No one with a conscience could do that. Maybe he wasn’t evil to the core, but he wasn’t good. It was good, that he wouldn’t write again.

 

The bell in the showroom rang. “I’m coming!” Galathil stopped the pottery wheel and washed his hands before he went to the shop. The customer had his back to him and looked at the display. “Can I help you?”, Galathil asked and approached him. Something was strange about this elf, he just didn’t know what. “Yes, you can help me, in fact. Give this lovesick idiot Sinthoras a chance so he can concentrate on his work again.”

Galathil stared at Mandos open-mouthed, then he lowered his gaze. Small wonder he had thought him strange. “I can’t, not after everything he did.” Lovesick? Had Gothmog told the truth, after all? Hadn’t he just wanted to mock him? “Yes, you can. You love him.” “That’s not true!” Galathil snapped. How dare he presume to know him? Mandos shook his head. “You can lie to yourself maybe, hína, but you can’t lie to me. Do us all a favour and stop hiding.”

Galathil swallowed hard when their eyes met. It seemed to him that Mandos was looking at his soul, seeing everything that he had locked up deep inside him. Was Mandos right? Did he love Gothmog – Sinthoras? He had liked the letters, but he hadn’t know then, who had written them, and he hadn’t liked to be Gothmog’s slave.

“He isn’t evil, he just adapted to the conditions – and he made a few very bad choices when it comes to the both of you. At least allow him to explain himself.” “Alright”, Galathil answered reluctantly, he couldn’t deny the wishes of a Vala. “I’ll listen to him.” “I’ll tell him.” Mandos vanished in the blink of an eye.

 

Just when Galathil had calmed himself with a swig of plum spirit, Gothmog... no, Sinthoras, entered the shop. Galathil buried his face in his arms and groaned. “I didn’t mean right now!” Sinthoras stopped. “Do you want me to leave?” “No, let’s get it over with.” Galathil looked at him. “So?”

“I don’t really know, where to start.” Sinthoras wrung his hands. “I understand, that you are mad at me, because you were my slave. I’m sorry, Galathil. I know that it was wrong. But I was Melkor’s general, I had to be like the others to be able to serve Melkor. And I wanted to serve him, I loved him, he was my friend. I had to do what he asked of me – and that included having slaves.”

“So you want to tell me, that you didn’t like to rape me?” Galathil growled, anger driving his fear away. “Do you think me a fool? At least be honest!” “No, that wasn’t what I wanted to say. I didn’t like the custom, but as time went by, I had less and less objection against a slave in my bed. And then you came. I wanted you, so much that I didn’t care how you felt. I was cruel, although I knew what had happened to you.

I didn’t know how to respond to your insubordination. I didn’t want to beat you, but I didn’t know how else to get your obedience. That’s a pathetic apology, I know, if it hadn’t been for Mablung... Sometimes I told myself that it would be better to help you escape.” “Why didn’t you?” Galathil clenched his fists. “Because I’m selfish, I didn’t want to be without you. I loved you, I knew that you wouldn’t stay of your own free will.”

Sinthoras closed his eyes. “I was a selfish idiot and that didn’t change much, it seems. When I saw Mablung protecting Melkor – even at the cost of his own life – I hoped that you could maybe forgive me too. But I forgot that Mablung loved Melkor even back then, you hated me.” Galathil pressed his lips together.

“I liked the letters, very much. I thought, maybe finally that could be the right one for me”, he whispered. “I was ten, when I was raped for the first time. I hated it to be touched. It still costs me an effort to allow someone to touch me. I have yet to meet the elf, who understands that it isn’t something that vanishes overnight.” Sinthoras saw the memory, the dread, in Galathil’s eyes, the elf’s feelings washed over him. “I’m so sorry.” He knelt down. “I’m laying my life at your feet. If you wish for vengeance, do as you please.”

Galathil stared at him. He hadn’t expected that and he didn’t know what to do with his offer. He imagined himself standing over Gothmog, a whip in his hand, beating his bloody back. Could he do that? Would it give him satisfaction? And if it did, where would he get a whip? He had to think about that offer.

“Please, leave”, he said hoarsely. “I have to think about what you said.” Sinthoras nodded. “I understand. I’ll wait for your answer.” Galathil sank down on his stool. What a day. He unwrapped the damp towels from the vase he had been working on when Mandos had come. He needed to finish it or the clay would dry and spoil his work.

 

Sinthoras sneaked around Galathil’s tree house. It was night, he didn’t want the elf to see him, he shouldn’t think him intrusive. But it had been a while since they had talked and he waited for a sign. He laughed softly when he saw a paper strip lie on the windowsill. There was only one word on it: _Come_.

He looked through the window and saw Galathil sitting on the bed, reading. Sinthoras knocked softly against the pane and Galathil looked up. He opened the window, but turned away immediately to fetch something from the wardrobe. “I thought that you are sneaking around here.”

Sinthoras tensed when he saw what Galathil was holding . He could picture vividly what he wanted to do with the willow branch. He started to open his robe. Galathil lifted his eyebrows. “What are you doing?” “Well, I thought...” Sinthoras pointed at the switch. Galathil smiled, but Sinthoras felt that he still was frightened. “Would you let me explain before you undress?”

“Of course.” Sinthoras tried to look as unthreatening as possible. “I thought long about what you said. What I feel for you, if I would like to beat you.” Galathil rolled the switch between his fingers. “It would be just, but I think it would be pointless. You would bear it, because you love me. Like Mablung bore what Morgoth did to him, because he loves him. But it’s not the same.

I bore it, because it wasn’t enough to kill me. I can’t make you feel the despair, I felt when I was beaten and raped and treated like scum. I don’t want to think about what I would have to do to make you feel like that, and that probably means that I don’t hate you as much as I thought. You never beat me because it gave you pleasure. At least, Mablung thinks so and as you didn’t beat me when I obeyed, he was probably right.

You hurt me very much, you forced me to do things, I didn’t want to do, because you believed you had a right to it and I won’t forgive that easily. But”, Galathil’s gaze became soft, “you also wrote this wonderful letters to me and I long to believe that you love me.” “Will you allow me to prove my love? Will you allow me court you?” Sinthoras trembled with tension.

“Yes, I do.” Galathil looked at him with worry in his eyes. “But you do realise that I won’t jump into bed with you at the first opportunity?” “I know”, Sinthoras said gently. “If it is okay for you, I’ll visit you regularly from now on. I’ll court you and it will be your decision when and if we go further. And if it never comes to it, it isn’t bad either. It’s enough for me to be with you.” That wasn’t completely true. He wanted him, but after everything that had happened between them, he knew that he had to restrain himself. At the moment he was unconditionally happy that Galathil gave him a chance at all.

 

Mablung rode into the small valley where his grandmother lived. He could smell the fresh bread before he saw the house. Finya stood at the oven and was taking out the loafs. “Grandmother!”, He called and dismounted. “Mablung?” She beamed at him. “You took your time. But I probably can’t blame you for forgetting your old grandmother. I heard much about you.” Mablung winched. “Not much good, I presume.”

“Nonsense, boy. What you did was very courageous. Let’s sit down, I have fresh woodruff lemonade.” Mablung followed her to the house and sat on a bench. “I heard you had a conversation with Manwe”, Mablung said after a while. “So that’s why you came.” Finya looked at him from the corner of her eye. “He told me, that it’s about you. What are you thinking?”

“What do you think, that I’m thinking? Sauron?!” Mablung tried to stay calm, but his feelings could be heard in his voice. “Do you have any idea, what he did to me? Who he is?” “Oh, my boy.” Finya touched his cheek. “Of course I know, who he is – or what he became – but then... I met him in the wood, close to Cuiviénen. He sat on the branch of a tree and sang. I had never heard something so beautiful.” On her face was a dreamy smile.

“’You’re in the way”’, he said and glowered at me, and I ran away, but I couldn’t get his song out of my head. I searched for him and found him again. ‘You again!’ He wasn’t very charming at first, but then he smiled at me. ‘Do you like it, when I sing?’ I nodded, because I didn’t trust my voice and he came over and kissed me. We met often and I wasn’t surprised when I noticed that I was pregnant. I wanted to tell him, but I never saw him again. I think, he already knew.” Finya shrugged. “It wasn’t to be.”

Mablung didn’t know what to say. The look in Finya’s eyes when she spoke of Sauron... He could never have imagined that someone could talk of him like that. “Did you... love him?” “I don’t know.” Finya drank deeply. “I thought so, then, and I didn’t marry anyone else. I told no one who the father of my child was, until Manwe stood at my door a few weeks ago. Mairon was never cruel.”

She looked pleadingly at him. “I couldn’t have known...” Mablung sighed. “No, you couldn’t. And I’m not in a position to judge you for it.” “I heard that you love Melkor.” Finya smiled at him. “And you can hear the Ainur?” Mablung nodded. “Yes, since long ago. It is beautiful, but sometimes a little frightening. I... they are so much _more_ than we are. I can't explain it." "I know, what you mean." Finya smiled sadly. "I wish you happiness with your Ainu." Mablung touched her hand. "Thank you." He couldn't imagine Sauron anything else but cruel, but Finya had known him differently. He wouldn't think ill of her for it.

 

Sinthoras was pulled under water, Galathil clung to his leg taking him down with him. When he came to surface again, he heard Galathil’s laugh. He grinned, glad that the elf could be so light-hearted in his presence. Anyone else he would have chased around the lake, but he had to be careful with Galathil. He didn’t think something like that fun. Sinthoras walked out of the water. “I’ll escape before you drown me.”

He wasn’t very fond of water anyway, he was fire, but he suffered it for Galathil. He lay down in the grass to dry. Galathil followed him but he kept his distance. Not, because he distrusted him, just to make him think before he touched him. Sinthoras looked up to him. He was naked and in moments like this, it was hard for Sinthoras to hold back. He longed to touch him, to kiss him, to love him – but he mustn’t. Galathil allowed him to be with him, he wouldn’t put that at risk with going too far.

“What’s the matter?” Galathil looked at him. “Why?” “You were staring at me.” “I just thought how beautiful you are.” Galathil blushed. “Don’t say that!”, he snapped. He didn’t cope well with compliments. “But it is the truth.” Sinthoras sat up. “Do you think me beautiful, Galathil?” Galathil shrank back. “I can’t, Sinthoras!” His voice quivered.

“I know.” Sinthoras reached out. “That wasn’t what I meant.” “What did you mean then?” Galathil stumbled to his feet. “You promised not to push me!” “Galathil!” Sinthoras wanted to follow him when he ran into the wood but he knew that that would be for him as if he were being hunted and he mustn’t do that. 'idiot!', he berated himself. He had frightened him again.

 

Galathil looked pale and bleary-eyed, sitting in Mablung’s room. He had come by foot and boat. Mablung put a cup of tea in front of him and waited for him to speak. “The writer of the letters... it was Sinthoras”, he suddenly blurted out and buried his head in his arms. Mablung patted his back wordlessly. Was it a good sign that he called him Sinthoras and not Gothmog?

“What do you want to do now?” Galathil shook his head.  “I already allowed him to visit me. Mandos almost ordered me to give him a chance! I couldn’t say no. And he was...” Galathil looked up. “He was as he had been in the letters. So friendly and restrained and... he didn’t corner me. But he’s getting impatient like all the others.” Galathil sobbed. “We were bathing, a few days ago. He asked me if I think him beautiful and I... I ran. I was frightened.”

Mablung embraced him. “Galathil... do you like him?” Galathil nodded crying. “I’d never thought... he is nice, I like him.” “You just want it to go on as it has, without him wanting more. Do you want to stay a little?” Sinthoras would find him soon, but he wouldn’t tell him. “We can walk along the beach. If you like, I’ll introduce you to my friends and we can go sailing together. And you can figure out what you want from Sinthoras.” “I don’t want to bother you.” “You don’t bother me. You are my friend, I like to have you here.”

 

Mablung felt Sinthoras before he saw him. He seemed to come on foot, maybe he wanted to hide what he was. His red hair glowed from afar, he wore simple clothes, nothing indicated that he was a servant of Mandos. Mablung went to meet him after he had given Ómalingwe notice. The Teler was used to Mablung having “noble visitors”. They sat down at the pier. “Galathil is here, isn’t he?”

Mablung nodded. His friend was walking somewhere around Alqualonde to make sketches. The rough terrain inspired him. “I made a mistake.” “You pushed him too far too fast. You need a lot of patience with Galathil, Sinthoras. You know that.” “Yes, I know.” He pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I was so happy when he allowed me to visit him. Do you think, he can forgive me? Do you think, he’ll want to see me?”

“He is very fond of you, Sinthoras.” Mablung gave him a serious look. “But he has been hurt so often – and by you, too. Could you accept it, if he were never ready to have sex with you?” “I want to be close to him, Mablung, it doesn’t matter how. Will you let me talk to him?” “That’s hardly my decision.” Mablung smiled softly. “I’ll talk to him. You aren’t a bad guy and I think, you could be good for him. But if you break his heart, you’ll have a brush with me.”

Sinthoras bowed to him. “I’ll heed your warning, Mablung. You are a good friend.” “You both are my friends, but Galathil is more vulnerable in this matter.” “How are _you_?” “I survive.” Mablung smiled sadly. “It isn’t so bad most of the time. I have work here and friends, but on some days... I miss him, very much.”

Sinthoras put his arm around his shoulders. “No one deserves to be happy as much as you, but I can’t forgive _him_ that easily.” “Don’t you think he has suffered enough?” Mablung looked at him with eyes full of pain. He knew, of course, that Melkor had betrayed Sinthoras, but... “Yes, of course, he has, but that’s not the point. He was my friend and he didn’t trust me – he didn’t even listen to me.”

“I’m sorry.” It had been his fault, too. “I don’t blame you.” Sinthoras huffed. “You were powerless against him, but he should have known better.” “Maybe, yes.” Mablung looked out over the water. “I hope, you will find a way to forgive him, when he comes back. He’s very ashamed of what he did.” “We’ll see. I’ll give him a chance, if he wants it, but I won’t run after him."

 

Mablung saw that it had been a productive day for Galathil. His face glowed with happiness. “To come here was the best decision I had in years.” Galathil kissed his cheeks. “Thanks for letting me stay.” Mablung smiled at him. “A certain Maia visited me today.” He was still close and waited for a sign. “What did he want?” Galathil tensed for a moment, then he sat down at the table. “See you, what else? I promised him that I’d tell you. Do you want to see him?”

“I don’t know.” Galathil leaved nervously through his sketches. “Don’t leave me be alone with him.” “Do you fear him?” Mablung was worried. If that was the case... “No.” Galathil shook his head. “I don’t fear him, but I’m afraid of what he could want.” Suddenly his eyes became hard. “I don’t want to run anymore.” “I’ll ask him to come.” It didn’t take Sinthoras long to get to his door.

“Galathil”, he kept his distance. “I’m very sorry. I know that I went too far. Please, forgive me.” “Do you want to eat with us?” Galathil offered him a seat. Mablung had cooked for three. “Yes, thank you.” Not, that Sinthoras needed it, but it was a peace offer. “You scared me.” “I know.” “Don’t ever do it again.” Galathil looked sternly at him. “I told you from the beginning, that I won’t sleep with you.”

“I know and I respect that.” Sinthoras sounded so contritely that Mablung squeezed his hand for encouragement. He understood Galathil, but he understood Sinthoras, too. He knew how it was to love someone who couldn’t bear to be touched.

 

“You don’t have to bring me home”, Galathil said, he was a little embarrassed. “I like to walk with you.” Sinthoras smiled at him. He walked a step beside him, hadn’t touched him since he had come to Alqualonde, and Galathil was grateful. He was happy that he accompanied him back home. He liked him, he liked to be with him – he would have liked for them to hold hands now. It wasn’t the touch itself that he feared.

It wouldn’t have bothered him if Sinthoras had embraced him, maybe kissed him, but the thought of lying under him again, to be at his mercy... Galathil became aware of quickening breath. If he’d take his hand now, he would want more, but it would never be more. “Does it annoy you, that I can’t...” Sinthoras shook his head. “I don’t blame you, it’s my fault, after all. You set the limits, Galathil, and I’ll abide by them.”

Galathil looked into his eyes. “But why?” “Because you mean very much to me. I was selfish, I should have let you go earlier, but I wanted to keep you close. Not only for sex.” Galathil swallowed. “I told myself, that I was better than others, but ultimately, I hurt you as much as these orcs. I know that I won’t ever be able to make amends for that, but I want to prove to you, that I learned from my mistakes. I want to be close to you, Galathil, even if you never want to have sex with me.”

Sinthoras looked at him with apprehension. Galathil could almost hear is unspoken question: ‘What do you want, Galathil?’ Was he frightened, that he would run again, if he asked? Galathil had thought a lot about it and he knew, what he wanted, but to tell him... it was hard. “I want to be close to you, too”, he said softly. “But sex... it frightens me. I feel so helpless, it doesn’t give me pleasure. I would like to take your hand now, I want to be able to sit with you my head against your shoulder – or even in your lap. I would like it, if you’d caress my hair. I’d even want to kiss you, if you wouldn’t expect more. But how could that be enough for you? You...”

“It’s enough, Galathil.” Sinthoras watched him gently. “I’m a being of music, this body is only a raiment. Intimacy doesn’t necessarily mean sex for me. You don’t have to feel pressed – an if you do, tell me. I’m not perfect, I make mistakes, but I can only make it better if you tell me, what I do wrong.” Galathil smiled shyly and held his hand out. Sinthoras’ fingers gently closed around his, Galathil allowed himself to be happy without any doubt.

**Author's Note:**

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